Dreaming True
by Ani101
Summary: Preseries: Sam wakes up alone and beaten up in hospital, unable to remember what happened to him... slight AU in that Sam has a couple of visions...Sam-16 Dean-21
1. Chapter 1

**Dreaming True**

**Disclaimer: I will probably forget to put this at the beginning of every chapter but it still stands: I do not own anything to do with Supernatural, sadly, not even Sam.**

**The town of Uplands is entirely fictional...**

**Sam is 16, Dean 20, but the story is mostly about Sam.**

**I hope you like it!**

Chapter 1:

He was cold. That was the first thing he was aware of; then he realised that he was cold because he was wet. He could feel damp grass pressing through his clothing. Why was he lying on the ground? He tried to move and pain washed over him; he tried to cry out but he could not draw in enough breath through a bruised, swollen throat.

What's happened to me?

"Don't move, kid, the ambulance is on its way...just lie still..." He did not know the voice. He was scared and tried to shrink away but the pain was too much. He could hear a high, wailing siren and thought that he should know what it meant, but he did not. He lost time in darkness.

He was roused again by rumbling, a kind of low hoarse roar he could feel through his body. I'm in a car, he thought. Maybe I'm in Dean's car. But why am I lying down in it?

"Dean?" he croaked. A hand stroked his forehead and he twisted his face away, not knowing the touch.

"Easy now, just relax..."

"No...ah..." Pain jolted through him. Someone took his hand and he felt cold fingers at his left wrist; the contact was agony and the world faded once more.

…...

Sam opened his eyes and found himself staring up at a white ceiling. That's odd, he thought. He did not know how he had come to be here, lying in a bed, alone. He ached, so badly, all over, and his body felt tired and weak. He looked around and caught sight of the needles in his arm attached to numerous strange drips and devices beside the bed. He was in a hospital.

Why?

He tried to lift his head and shoulders from the bed, but the movement sent pain blasting through his back and neck, strips of harsh fire shooting into his skull. He gasped in shock, moaning softly. He must have been injured somehow...but he could not remember an injury. He and Dean and Dad...they had stopped somewhere for the night, a motel in the middle of nowhere. Sam thought guiltily that he and Dad had been arguing pretty intensely. And then...he cast his mind back, memory a blur. He was in someone's car, he thought. Dean's? Maybe. He could think of no other details. Then waking briefly from a sleep or unconsciousness he did not remember succumbing to, cold and hurt, and then what he now realised must have been the ambulance...

And suddenly here.

Fear was beginning to rise up within at the fact that he did not know and could not guess what had happened to him. Had there been an accident? A chill went up his spine. What if they had been in a car crash or something? Were Dean and Dad all right? He forced himself into a sitting position, fighting to block out the agony streaking through him-he had to get up and find out what had happened...at that moment, the door opened to reveal a tall, dark-haired man in a white coat. He halted, surprised at seeing Sam awake.

"How are you feeling, then?"

"I'm fine," Sam replied. "Listen, you gotta tell me-what happened to me? Is my brother here? My dad?"

The man smiled faintly as he crossed the room and took a seat beside Sam's bed. "No," he said. "They're not here. In fact, we were hoping you could tell us what had happened to you. We got a call from a driver who'd found you lying by the side of the road, unconscious. We brought you here, and since then..." He shrugged. "You've been out cold for over twenty-four hours. My name is Dr Pierce, and I've been overseeing your treatment. Can you tell me if you're in pain?"

Sam stared at him through panicky hazel eyes. "No," he lied. If he said yes they might drug him, but he needed answers. "No, how...what...I need to call someone. Do you have a phone I can borrow?"

"I can lend you a phone," he said. "But I think it might be better if I make the call..."

"No, I have to. My family will be going frantic..."

Dr Pierce nodded and handed him his own cellphone. "Go ahead." Sam took it and swiftly dialled Dean's number-he knew it by heart, then held it to his ear. The dialling tone went on and on, but no-one picked up. He did not even reach Dean's voicemail-the bleeping just went on endlessly. At last he hung up and tried his father's phone-the same thing happened. Panic-stricken he turned to the doctor.

"Where are we?"

"Uplands Hospital, Indiana" Dr Pierce told him.

"I have to go," Sam said feverishly, shoving back the covers with his right hand; the left was in a cast. "I have to go and find my family..." The last place he could remember stopping with Dean and Dad was a motel in some small town in Minnesota. A very, very long way away from here.

Dr Pierce put out one hand and pushed him back. "You're in no state to go rushing off into the wilds. You were badly beaten."

Sam stared at him. "_Beaten_?"

The doctor nodded. "Clearly. Two broken ribs, your left wrist as well, and there was a lot of pretty nasty bruising. And you'd been strangled, somehow. And then you had a very severe concussion. You're telling me you don't remember any of it?"

"No," Sam breathed, panicked and horror-stricken. "I don't remember anything..."

"Okay, well, calm down now. How about you tell me your name?"

"I'm Sam Winchester," he said. "But I can't stay here, I have to find my family..."

"Sam, please," the doctor warned. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

Sam nodded and winced as pain spiked in his head again. "Yeah, I was in a motel with my father and my brother, I think...we were arguing? And then...almost nothing..." He took a painful breath, trying hard not to panic.

Dr Pierce looked him hard in the eye. "Sam, don't worry about your memory loss. Temporary amnesia is common with injuries to the head like yours and it will come back to you. But I'm going to ask you one question and I understand it may be rather painful for you. But please answer it honestly and objectively."

Sam agreed apprehensively. "Okay. What is it?"

"Is there any possibility in your mind, Sam, and I'm not pointing any fingers, only suggesting it, that your father could have beaten you like this and then abandoned you by the road?"

Sam was horrified. "No! There is no way, my father would _never_ do something like that, you're crazy if you think that!" In his anger he sat bolt upright, too fast, and agony seared through his head and chest. He curled over, gasping as black dots danced before his eyes.

"All right, Sam, all right. Just calm down and try and sleep, okay?" Sam dimly saw his hand go out and press a button beside the bed; instantly he felt a cold liquid trickling through one of the needles in his arm and exhaustion swept over him like a raincloud.

"No," he said dazedly. "No, I don't...want..." But it was too late, he was already slipping into oblivion once more. He felt strong hands lowering him gently back onto the pillow, and a voice telling him, again, that it would be all right, he was safe now...and then nothing.

**So...what has happened to Sam? Where are Dean and John? mwahahaha**

**Please review and let me know if you want me to continue!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited or anything else and here's the next chapter! And um-yes you may be shocked. I know I was pretty freaked out writing it!**

Chapter 2:

_"Why won't you listen to me?" Sam yelled furiously. "Why the hell do you never give a damn what I say?"_

_ John gave an outraged roar that startled even his son, and with one swift, vicious movement grabbed Sam's shoulders and shoved the boy hard into the wall so hard he gasped in pain. Forcing his face up close, the father snarled into his son's face._

_ "You will stop defying me, Sam Winchester, you understand me? You will shut your mouth, do as you are told and for once in your miserable self-centred existence accept that you are wrong!" He slammed Sam against the wall again to emphasise his words, then flung him to the floor. Caught by surprise, Sam went down on his hands and knees, but before he could even struggle to his feet his father was kicking him back down, the toe of his boot striking hard into his ribs and cutting off his breath. Frightened and bewildered, Sam was thrown down again, and when he tried to get up he was kicked again and again, in the face, the stomach, and then his father was down crouching over him as he lay curled in agony on the floor, and his strong, Marine-trained fists were slamming down into Sam's face and neck. _

_ "No! Dad-stop..." He cried out at last as a particularly painful blow was landed on the side of his head and stars danced before his eyes. He did not understand, this made no sense, John would never do something like this...never...sure Sam knew he was a disappointment to his father but this? It was impossible. It could not be his father doing this to him. It could not. Maybe he was possessed? Suddenly struck by a ray of hope, Sam found the strength to force out the word-"Christo-" But John did not even flinch, only laughed harshly at his battered son's final effort._

_ "No, Sam, there's no demon here," he breathed, and he hit him again in the face. Sam yelled and tried to rally himself, tried to shove the brutal man off him, fought to remember all he had learned in his childhood training...learned from the same man who now glared down at him with such obvious hatred and was grinding him into the floor...every movement hurt and he knew that something important was broken inside him...ribs, stomach...heart. His vision was blurred and he knew that pretty soon he'd end up knocked out cold...he could not make him stop, this man he had thought all his life was his father was really going to kill him..._

_ "Dean!" he yelled hopelessly. "Oh God, Dean...help me..."_

_ And then his father's hands were at his neck and they were pressing, so tightly; Sam choked, struggling weakly to break the man's powerful grip, but it was impossible...John held on until the boy's struggles began to weaken and fail, then let go. Sam looked up at him through dazed, half-closed hazel eyes filled with horror, panting for breath, and then John rose to his feet, staring down at the skinny, defeated teenager on the ground. He raised his foot and brought it down, hard, on Sam's left wrist, and the boy screamed as he heard it snap, pulling it into his body and cradling it to his chest._

_ "Dean..." he gasped brokenly. "Dean...where are you?"_

_ "You're nothing, Sam," John hissed. "You hear me? Nothing." He kicked him once more in the ribs and Sam curled over, struggling for breath and moaning involuntarily in agony. "And Dean's not coming to save you this time."_

_ "You're not you," Sam whispered desperately, struggling to raise himself from the ground. __He was making small, wounded noises, though he did not even realise it. "You...can't...please, Dad, __it's me..."_

_ "I know who you are," John snarled. "I've known for nearly seventeen years." He bent over his son again and Sam flinched away. John grabbed his broken wrist in one hand and closed his fist over it, making Sam howl in pain._

_ "No, Dad, stop, please! Please!"_

_ If it was anyone else he would fight to the last breath. Stand up and above all else he would not scream. But this was his father, and he did not understand. Had John really hated him all his life? Was it possible that he had been just hiding it? Sam had always known that Dean was his favourite child, the perfect soldier, obedient and focused. But this pure naked loathing? It was that that destroyed him, more than any beating...he felt John's hands lift him and he tried to support himself but could not. John took him by the shoulders and Sam suddenly saw the hard corner of the table beside them and screamed out again, thrashing in his father's iron grip. _

_ "No! Dad!"_

_ He felt his head slammed into the corner, pain exploding and shattering in his skull. He thought it was hit again and again, but by then he did not know anything any more._

"Sam! Sam, wake up!"

"No!" Sam yelled, jolting upright. "No, Dad, noooo!" He struggled for breath, felt hands holding him while he choked. Slowly reality began to return-he was in the hospital, and when he looked up he could see Dr Pierce's concerned face. He began to breathe more easily and finally fell back, curled in the sheets as if for protection and hiding his face.

"It wasn't him," he whispered desperately. "It can't be...it wasn't..."

It had been like no nightmare he had ever had before. Somewhere deep within he knew the truth-it had been a memory. But _how could that be true_? He realised he was sobbing and tried to calm down, ashamed of looking so weak in front of the doctor. He tried to sit up and felt strong hands press him back into the bed, where wearily he collapsed again.

"Sam?" Dr Pierce said quietly. "Are you all right? Did you have a nightmare?"

Sam nodded, trying to believe that it was all it had been. But that was just the point-he remembered it now, like he remembered anything else that had happened in his life, and he knew that it had really happened, just as...as he knew riding in the passenger seat of Dean's car days ago trying surreptitiously to change the cassette in the music player while his brother wasn't looking had really happened. Logically it made no sense-why the hell would John do something like that to him? It made no sense at all...but his memory was telling him that it was the truth. He felt another sob rise in his throat and choked it down, gripping his aching head in his two hands.

"Did you remember something?" The question was careful, hesitant. Almost as if he _knew_... or suspected all along. Sam felt an almost uncontrollable panic welling up.

"No, it wasn't real, it wasn't real...it can't have been real..."

"Will you tell me what it was?"

Sam shook his head violently, careless of the pain it caused him, burrowing deeper into the sheets, hands still covering his face. This memory was something he could not take. He just could not do it. It hurt worse than any of his physical injuries...far worse...but it could not be real...it could not be...

"He wouldn't do that to me," he whispered, half to himself, almost delirious with pain and confusion. "He wouldn't...anyway Dean wouldn't let him..." He tried to control himself. Hide the truth, he thought desperately, seeing in that his only chance of saving his sanity. Hide the truth until you can decide whether it's real or not...

His mind told him that it was. His heart told him that there was no way.

"Okay. Okay, Sam, try and rest now. I'm going to..." Sam saw him reach for the button and jerked up again, grasping the doctor's wrist in his left hand. "No! Please, don't drug me again!"

Dr Pierce looked surprised. "It'll help you sleep, Sam, and you need that right now..."

Sam stared at him pleadingly, desperately. "Please! I need to be able to wake up! I promise I'll try and sleep just please don't drug me again!"

Dr Pierce assessed the terrified boy for a long moment before relenting and removing his hand from the button. "Very well. But you try and sleep yourself now, okay? Just relax and everything will be sorted out when you're recovered.

Sam nodded, falling back onto the pillow, his exhaustion and pain already bearing him down into darkness. His eyes slowly closed and his breathing slowed, and Dr Pierce stood up to leave. He looked back for one unfathomable moment at the sleeping boy, so vulnerable and young in his unconsciousness, and then he turned sharply and strode out.

**So-what do you think is going on? Could John really have done that to Sam? Please tell me what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks everyone who bothered to review, that incident last chapter seemed to baffle everyone...afraid it's going to get even more confusing and painful now...please stay with me!**

Chapter 3:

Sam shoved back the covers with his uninjured right hand and swung his legs off the bed. Odd how he felt like he was doing something he shouldn't...he braced himself for the pain and then stood up. For just an instant he swayed as a wave of dizziness passed over him, but he determinedly stood straight as he accustomed himself to the new pain in his chest and head, the stiffness in his muscles. He had just woken, from a sleep entirely dreamless, to his relief, and it was time to work out what the hell was going on here.

What if it's true? What if Dad...

He scowled at nothing. No. It's some kind of trauma from whatever did happen. People draw blanks sometimes, right? I'm just having the opposite...

But I _remember_ it happening...

No. I need real answers. I have to find out the truth. Dad would never do something like that to me, no matter how disappointed or angry he was...

He made his way unsteadily to the window and leaned against the wall as he peered out. Nothing caught his eye-just the hospital carpark, beyond that a road scattered with cars, then more buildings, houses and shops. Just a town like any other. He pulled at the catch on the window, suddenly desperate for some fresh air, but found it was locked. Puzzled he pulled harder, but the window would not open. He frowned-why would it be locked? What was the point?

He was beginning to think that nothing made sense any more.

At that moment the door behind him burst open and he spun round in alarm, almost losing his balance. Dr Pierce stood there, even now striding inside.

"What are you doing, Sam? You need to rest."

Sam nodded warily. "Okay...but I'm all right now. I was thinking I have to go, I can pay you some other time, maybe? I promise I'll come back..."

Dr Pierce raised his eyebrows. "Don't worry about payment, we'll take care of all that...but you're still recovering, Sam. You can't leave now. Where would you go, in any case?"

"Home," Sam replied, trying to ignore the irrational shudder of fear that passed through him at the word. He did not quite succeed in concealing it-Dr Pierce looked at him sharply.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Sam nodded. Home was nothing to be scared of, he told himself firmly. Dean...Dad...get a grip.

Dad...again, that instinctive tremor of panic...

"Sam, I was hoping I could talk to you about the nightmare you had last night," the doctor said tentatively."There is a chance it could provide some clue to what happened to you."

Sam shook his head fiercely and pain blasted through it. He gasped and saw the world swaying-next thing he knew Dr Pierce was supporting him, pulling him back to the bed. He went passively, feeling like he would either collapse or throw up if he put up any resistance. Half-blindly he felt himself being helped onto the bed, where he immediately curled up, struggling to control the pain.

"Ah...hell..." He breathed quickly as the pain slowly began to abate and his vision cleared. He looked up at Dr Pierce once more, apologetically.

"Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," the doctor told him. "Please, Sam. I want to help you, but if you don't tell me what you really think I can't. Just tell me what your dream was about."

"I...I don't remember," Sam lied, staring down at the sheets. "I...I always, uh, forget my dreams."

This was blatantly untrue.

"Sam," Dr Pierce said softly. "You were screaming things like "No, Dad, stop!" It sounded like you were being tortured. I'm sorry, but with your situation..."

"_No_," Sam said vehemently. "It wasn't _true_. It was stupid _dream_, all right?" He was scared, and in pain, and he just wanted to be left alone. He just wanted to know what was going on here...he wanted Dean to come and tell him it was okay. Maybe it wasn't, but Dean could make him feel like it was.

As it was he could not even be sure where his family was. How could they have let him disappear? How could they have just...lost him?

His memory gave him an answer.

Dad hurt you, then abandoned you. Dean must have been in on it.

No! I will not believe it!

…...

The boy lay motionless in a drugged sleep under Dr Pierce's watchful gaze. With the continued questioning he had become extremely panicky and distressed, and the pain in his head and ribs had only intensified. Dr Pierce had had no choice but to sedate him once again. Clearly Sam Winchester had been through some awful trauma...and it certainly looked as if exactly what it had been was clear. Horribly, unbelievably clear.

_Sam looked up as best he could, pain slamming through his skull. He was lying on the backseat of a car; he could smell the leather upholstery. He struggled to focus his vision but it was nearly impossible. He hurt. His whole body was in agony and every movement sent fresh waves of torment blasting through him._

_ He remembered. Dad had beaten him half to death, finally knocking him unconscious. The pain of the memory was too much and he heard himself whimper..._

_ How could he do that?_

_ Someone's face drifted into view, glancing over from the front seat. Sam struggled to __concentrate on it-then gasped in shock as he realised that it was Dean._

_ "He's awake," Dean said to someone else._

_ Maybe Dean was rescuing him? Dad had suddenly gone crazy and Dean had found him and was saving his life..._

_ "Dean..." he croaked. His brother's face was withdrawn._

_ "So you just want to leave him there?" he said to the other person in the vehicle. "Seems kinda risky is all..." _

_ "Dean, there's no choice. He can't come with us any more, you know that." The face to which the voice belonged to suddenly emerged from the chaos of Sam's vision and he shrank back in instinctive terror as he saw his father there. Dean was fingering his silver knife; it was stained with blood. As Sam watched his father took it from him, fingers easily touching the silver. He felt another ray of hope go out. His blurred vision glimpsed the iron ring on John's left hand and with that final test all was lost for him. Dean looked back once more, then turned away again. That one glance was enough for Sam to see nothing but ice in his brother's green eyes._

_ "No..." he moaned. "No...Dean..."_

_ His father's betrayal he could not believe. It was tearing him apart. But Dean's...that Dean had betrayed him too utterly destroyed him. He felt darkness reclaiming him and welcomed it-anything to get away from this world he had lost. Maybe he deserved to have lost it. Maybe he had done something so terrible that not even his family could forgive him. It sounded like the sort of thing he would do, some colossal mess-up. Maybe they'd just got sick of him..._

_ He could not take it._

He jerked from sleep sweating and shaking. He was crying. Why was he crying? He fought to control himself but it was too much...this was surely no mere dream. This was not normal. He had never been so scared...

"It's not true," he gasped aloud to the empty room. "It's not _true_!"

The shadows loomed in on him-he drew his knees up to his chest and yelped in pain as his broken ribs seared.

"Oh God no. No, it's not true, it can't be...oh, God..."

But he could no longer hide. His memories were returning, and they were returning as the most horrific nightmares of his life. His trembling intensified and dry sobs racked his battered body.

"It's true," he whispered hopelessly, brokenly. "It's true...how can that be...how could he do that to me...how could Dean let him do that to me..."

There was no escaping the truth this time.

**Please review as always and tell me what you think can have happened to Sammy!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, the most common opinion is that this is the work of a shapeshifter...there are a few more clues in this chapter! The last one seemed to agitate everybody...thanks for all your encouragement!**

**I know this chapter's a bit shorter, I'm posting tonight already because I won't be able to for a few days afterwards...I hope you like it, this is where things change a little...**

Chapter 4:

Sam sat motionless under Dr Pierce's scrutiny, eyes lowered, chestnut strands of hair falling across his forehead and provoking a fearfully young and vulnerable look in his bruised face. The doctor reached out and took his hand-Sam glanced up at him, assumed he was taking his pulse-again-and looked away once more.

"You had another dream, didn't you," the doctor said quietly. Sam shrugged.

"Sam, I don't believe that these dreams are merely that. It seems to me very likely that they are in fact memories. You need to let me help you." His fingers were cold and hard on Sam's, filled with a kind of vehement energy like his voice. Sam felt dizzy and exhausted; he looked up into the doctor's concerned face and knew that he could no longer hide from the truth.

But that did not mean he had to confide in anyone about it.

"Please, Sam. Did you dream that your father was...hurting you?"

"No."

"Can you tell me where your mother is? You mentioned a brother, but..."

"She's dead," Sam said, very quietly. "A long time ago."

"Do you know if your father changed after her death in any way?"

Sam could have laughed. Had his father changed after his mother's death? Well, not really. He just started hunting evil monsters a little more than before, and became a bit revenge-driven. That's all.

Do you _want_ to get yourself locked up in some psych ward somewhere?

But now he had to deal with the certainty that his father was actually possibly psychotic-that he had beaten him half to death and abandoned him by the side of the road, all on no compunction other than a stupid argument-the kind they had every day. It made no sense, but he knew it to be true-knew it like he knew his own name, because he remembered it. And what made it worse was that he also knew that Dean had been in on it. Dean had _helped_ John dispose of him. Maybe it made more sense than he thought. Maybe they really did just hate him...

That was what he really could not take.

He did not know what to do. He could not go home, wherever that was. He was a minor, so they might try and put him into foster care...well, he wouldn't let them. He'd survive on his own, somehow. He could, if he had to. He knew how to defend himself. Sure it would put an end to all his college plans and high ambitions, but he could survive.

He just was not sure that, without Dean and his father, he _wanted_ to.

The doctor was still gripping his hand. Maybe it was meant to be comforting, but it was beginning to hurt. Sam thought of what Dean would say-_two out of ten for bedside manner, doc_. Or at least, the Dean he thought he had known. How could he be sure of anything any more? Still, he did not shake his hand away. The physical pain he almost welcomed, if only because it could nearly drown out the agony in his heart.

"No," he said hoarsely with an instinctive loyalty. "No, he didn't...change..."

His hand felt numb. That was weird-either the doctor had some kind of superhuman strength or he had somehow injured his right hand as well. And not just numb but tingling, with a fierce kind of energy.

"Yes," he said suddenly. "I dreamed that my dad nearly killed me and my brother was driving us away to leave me by the road, and no it wasn't just a dream it was a memory." Abruptly he stopped, shocked. He had not meant to say that. How had it just come? He stared at the doctor in panic, wondering if it could be a side-effect of his concussion or something. _He had specifically decided not to say that_! And then suddenly there he was, blurting it all out as if it were nothing, as if it was not really him who had said it. Dr Pierce nodded and smiled, finally relinquishing his grasp on Sam's hand. The feeling rushed back in abruptly, and with it waves of pain through his head. Maybe he was worse hurt than they had thought, because he was not recovering. Concussions only lasted a little while-he'd had them enough times before. Hunting was a dangerous job. But this...he was just not getting better. He felt Dr Pierce push him down onto the bed and protested weakly. Something was wrong with him. His strength had drained away like water and now he could barely keep his eyes open. On waking he had felt so much better...he dimly saw the doctor's hand go out to push the button, and darkness claimed him once again.

...

Far away in the darkness a lone warehouse loomed up against the desert. Its boarded-up windows and stained, broken bricks and timbers suggested long years of disuse and abandon, and the very sky above it seemed more desolate and forsaken that anywhere around. A lone sign creaked from its uneven roof: _Tesden Incorporated Storage since 1987, Indiana._

But it was not abandoned.

There was no-one directly inside it. But a determined explorer would have climbed the old, rickety stairs, eager to plumb further secrets of the ancient, forgotten building. And it was on the second storey, floor unstable and dotted with rotted, weak patches like mould on a loaf of bread, that, had they known where to look, they would have found the secret door in the wall, behind a broken filing cabinet. And had they forced entry they would have discovered the warehouse's only inhabitants. At least twelve children, varying between about five and fourteen in age, lay in states of misery and pain around the floor, weighted down by heavy chains. Many of their faces were bruised and cut, and in all their eyes was the same look of abject terror and despair.

It was only now that the explorer might have glimpsed that the shadows in the room were not fully stationary. They seemed to boil and swell, as if it was not mere shades of life that moved there at all, but a number of dark, only partially corporeal beings. They glided among the children, occasionally stopping to lay a hand on a sweaty forehead, whereupon the child in question would start and moan softly, before lapsing back into their catatonia. It was clear that they guarded the warehouse as sentries of some kind; it was also clear that the children were their source of animation. And that it was they that, during the daylight hours, seemed to repel the sunlight, shrouding the forgotten warehouse forever in darkness and pain.

They had dealt with their masterplan's only flaw. Now they were ready.

**What do you think? Has this changed your opinion of what has happened? Please let me know!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry this is another short chapter and that the story doesn't seem to be progressing much! I had to do just a bit more on the development thing to make it absolutely clear who the bad guy was...next chapter will have more progression, I promise!**

Chapter 5:

Sam was feeling oddly detached. Dimly he knew that it was something that should alarm him; that he was not recovering in any way from his injuries-injuries inflicted by the father he had thought cared about him-as he knew from what Dr Pierce told him. He didn't know about his broken bones, but he had been here a week and his concussion was still as bad as ever, causing his head to sear with pain at almost every movement, making him permanently weak and dizzy. He did not understand, but he didn't think he had the strength to care.

It was a strange hospital, too. That was something else that he felt should mean more to him. He had seen no part of it but his own room, seen no other doctors or nurses or patients, only Dr Pierce. It was as if there was no-one here but the two of them, and that didn't make any sense at all.

Still, Sam didn't really care all that much. Mostly he was unconscious. Dr Pierce had increased the dosage of whatever drug he was giving him for the pain, and it was so powerful Sam could never fight the darkness it brought him for long. When he was awake the doctor was usually there, talking to him. Sam could sometimes make out the words-usually something about how he was going to be okay. Sam was not sure about that. His condition was worsening steadily.

But it was the dreams that were the problem.

Time and time again, night after night, he was haunted by those same memories; his father beating him with that horrific hatred in his eyes, and Dean driving him away to abandon. They did not fit with the people he had known all his life-but they were true. He had wanted to leave the hospital and find them, ask them what they thought they had been doing-sure he was scared, but he had spent his life learning how to conquer fear-but that was about when his physical state had taken a turn for the worse. He was so weak, so hurt, he could not stand without hanging on to something. It did not make much sense but he was not a doctor.

There had only been one dream that had not been about Dean and his father. And it had been so strange...those kids chained up in the warehouse, surrounded by shadows that were somehow alive...what was even more bizarre was that he felt sure he had seen it somewhere before-he just could not remember where. But that one had to be just a regular nightmare. Even he had to have _some_ of those.

He was weak. Maybe that was why Dean and John hated him so much? They could be so revenge-driven...maybe his eternal arguing and different perspective had just become too much and a loathing they had struggled to conceal for nearly seventeen years had just exploded. Maybe he had always been just a liability.

He could not be sure of anything any more.

…

Dr Pierce entered the room to find his young patient awake, though barely, fighting the drugs still pulsing through his system. He was a fighter for sure. That was where the trouble lay.

"Good to see you open your eyes, Sam," he said. The boy blinked dazedly up at him.

"I have to go," he whispered. "Find..."

"You want to find your family, I know. But Sam..." He touched the boy's hand gently. "You can't leave. You're still recovering and you're far too weak. And you know that if you go near them they could just finish the job."

"You mean kill me?"

"It's a possibility. I'm sorry, but it's clear they intentionally hurt you and going near them now would only endanger you."

"But I'll never find them again, we always moved around..."

"But, Sam," Dr Pierce said quietly, his fingers lingering on the teenager's clenched fist. "You don't really want to go back to them, do you? They're dangerous to you. You just relax and I'll make sure they don't get anywhere near you. You trust me, don't you?"

The drugs made it hard to think, hard to see. Sam frowned in confusion as Dr Pierce's face blurred at the edges for just an instant. His thoughts were drifting and numb. Maybe it was a side-effect of his concussion.

"Yeah," he mumbled uncertainly, the drugs already pulling him under once more. "Yeah, I can't...go..."

"They hate you, Sam," Dr Pierce said softly. "It's sad, but it's true. And if they find you, they will kill you. So you have to stay here and do exactly what I tell you, you understand? And everything will be all right..."

Sam felt it when the doctor pressed the button releasing the sedatives through his system, but by then he was barely even conscious to protest. It wasn't like sleep, more like a sort of patchy coma from which he was unable to wake from for more than a few minutes at a time. It was the drugs, no doubt, he thought, and he needed them to help him get better, but he did not like how he found himself. All he knew for sure was that Dr Pierce was trying to help him.

He sensed the doctor's voice going on and on above him, felt his hard touch on his hand. They hate me, he thought. They'll kill me...he knew that it was true. And then he knew nothing at all.

...

Dr Pierce stood up at last after Sam had finally passed out. This was definitely turning out to be a successful gamble. Even though at first it had seemed that the boy had just too much strength and faith in his family for it ever to work...he had been amazed by his resistance at the beginning. The wraith powers alone had had almost no effect on him, and he had even fought the lure of the drugs. And now the fact that he was still alive was astonishing in itself. Most humans would have been overcome long ago and simply died where they were-they were not built to stand this kind of power. But Sam Winchester still held out. He was even still recognisably himself.

If things had been different, Dr Pierce thought, I could have used him. Someone this strong would definitely be an asset to our cause...he had never come across this kind of resistance at all.

But Sam was nearly finished. Weak and confused and broken from the inside out, his strength was almost gone. In a matter of days, maybe no more than one or two, he would die at last, because he was human. Humans and wraiths did not mix well.

The one flaw in the plan, Sam Winchester and his bizarre abilities, was fast fading away. Soon it would be too late for anyone to save him. Definitely too late to stop the wraiths.

Yes, things were going well.

**As I said, next chapter will have a lot more progression, I just wanted to make things as clear as possible in this one...please review as always and stick with Sam, he doesn't have much time left...**


	6. Chapter 6

**So it's wraiths who've got Sammy! I just have to say, though, that although they're almost the same as the ones in the series I changed them a little bit for this story...As I said, much more progression in this chapter! Also Dean and John are involved...thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I'm so happy you liked it!**

Chapter 6:

Dean Winchester had reached the ultimate end of his very last rope. He sat alone in his stationary car, head bowed and leaned against the steering wheel, hopeless.

He could hear the door of his father's truck slam, heard his footsteps striding towards the car. He knew that John was worried about him, and that in itself angered him. He _shouldn't_ fuss over Dean, not now when Sammy was missing...the car door opened and Dean did not look up. He knew he should have locked it.

"Dean."

Dean did not reply.

"Dean, we'll find him. We do every time."

"Dad, he's been gone over a week and we've heard nothing. No clues, no leads, his phone's broken somehow..." We're not going to find him. The treacherous, deadly words pulsed inside him and nothing he could do, no anger or bravado, could push them away. Sam was gone, disappeared into the aether, and Dean just no longer believed that he would be coming back.

"There's something we haven't looked into, though," John said unwillingly. "Something I didn't tell you...might just be a clue."

Dean's head jerked up, new hope flooding his face. "What? Where?"

John looked vaguely guilty. "Sam gets his nightmares, doesn't he," he began uneasily. Dean blinked.

"He sure does." He didn't know anyone else who dreamed as vividly as his baby brother.

"Well, eight days ago, the night before he...disappeared...while you were out..."

"Yeah, I know." Dean had technically not been out at all, but very much in, with a curvy barmaid from the village they'd been staying in that night. He still felt guilty as hell for that...if only he'd been there whatever took Sammy wouldn't have made it past him. He had as good as abandoned him.

"He came to me, told me he'd had a dream."

Dean shrugged. "Great. Sammy needs dream counselling from you now?"

John rolled his eyes. "He'd been quiet all day, you remember? Barely talked at all and that's not normal for Sam. Told me he'd had a dream the night before and seen something he thought was real."

"He thought his dream was gonna come true?" Dean sighed and put his head in his hands. "So what was the dream?"

John looked uneasy. "He said he saw a warehouse guarded by some kind of shadow beings? And he said there were kids trapped inside it, and we needed to go and save them."

"No!" Dean moaned. "You think he went to save the kids? Where is this warehouse? Did he know?"

John looked vaguely alarmed. "Dean, you know this was his _nightmare,_ don't you? It _wasn't real_!"

"Fine, where did he _think_ it was?"

"Somewhere in Indiana. Tesden Incorporated, I think. Dean, it probably doesn't exist."

"Who cares?" Dean said savagely. "If Sammy's gone there then I'll find him." He jammed the keys into the ignition. "Was that the last time you saw him?"

The expression of guilt on his father's face deepened. "Uh..."

Dean hesitated, suddenly struck with an idea. "Dad...after he said that, what did you do?"

John closed his eyes. "I saw red, Dean, you know what he's like, I thought he was messing around...just trying to distract us from something, being Sammy."

"_What did you do_?"

"I yelled at him. Told him to shut up and act his age...I told him being scared of dreams was for little kids..."

"But-" Dean was getting angry now. His father held up a hand.

"He was stubborn, though. Kept telling me it was real. I told him if he didn't shut up I'd make him, and oh God the look in his eyes...I should've guessed. He ran out of there and it was only when you got home three hours later that I even knew he was gone."

Dean glared up at his father, unable to believe it. "You knew he'd run off all along, didn't you? And you let me panic thinking he'd been snatched by a demon or a serial killer and all the time you knew exactly where he'd gone! He's been alone a week and if you'd just told me the truth we could've already found him by now!"

"I wasn't sure," John said quietly. "I didn't think even he'd do that..."

Dean revved the engine and his father stepped back. "I'm going to Indiana," he snarled. "And I'm not coming back without Sammy."

"I'll be following you," his father said. Dean shrugged and slammed the door.

...

The warehouse was clearly deserted when they arrived, standing alone on the plain, the only sign of human life for miles around. The two vehicles pulled up outside it and the Winchester men got out. Dean did not look at his father once, nor speak a word to him, only went to the trunk of the car and pulled out flashlight and gun, before creeping up close to the old building. He knew that his father was right behind him and that he probably had a plan, but he was too angry to turn to him. He could hear nothing inside the warehouse, but that did not mean that it was empty. He was about to ram his shoulder into the rotten wood when John pushed him aside and within seconds had picked the lock and pushed the door open. Dean felt a little stupid. He should have thought of that.

John slipped through on silent feet into the interior of the warehouse, glancing about with eyes sharp as daggers as if he was on a hunt. Really, he was. For Dean, the most important hunt possible.

The two of them crept through the entire warehouse, searching every nook and cranny, but found nothing. The place was completely empty and neither could see any point in staying. Dean could feel his crushing depression returning, now that even this little ray of hope was extinguished ...he had really believed he would find Sammy here. As they returned to the light, Dean silent and dejected again, John suddenly called out.

"Dean, over here!"

Dean whirled round and half-ran back to where his father was crouched on the ground, holding something small and shiny in his hand. Dean dropped to his knees beside him and took it.

"You recognise that?" John asked him softly. Dean rubbed dirt off the little medal on its blue ribbon and nodded, panic suddenly welling up inside. It was Sammy's definitely, a the medal he had been awarded last year when his high school soccer team won the inter-school championship. He had been so proud of it, kept it with him all the time...

And yet here it was, without Sam.

"Well, he's _been_ here," John murmured. "Where he is now, though..." Clearly he was not in the warehouse-no-one was. Dean tried to get inside Sam's head.

"Well, he came here to find the kids, and obviously they aren't here," he said. "He must've dropped his medal by mistake as he was leaving...he didn't have transport so he would have walked. His tracks should still be here." He glanced up suddenly. "Dad, we have to find his tracks!"

John sighed. "Dean, it's been a week or more..."

"We have to try!" They spread out, John clearly humouring his distraught son, Dean actually desperate. He hurried along the side of the warehouse, scanning the ground-then a flash of colour caught his eye. He looked up and his heart missed a beat.

The ground right beside him was scuffed and uneven, as if a brief struggle had taken place. And on the wall beside this hard, untidy earth, was something Dean recognised instantly. In his line of work you saw it all the time.

Bloodstains.

"Oh, God, Sammy..."

Dean forced himself to look away from the blood and out into the distance. All he could see were tyre tracks, leading away from the place where the blood was splashed on the wall. He bent down but could do nothing to identify the type of car. All he knew was the direction.

He could not get it out of his head that this had happened many days ago. If Sam had been bleeding then...what had become of him now?

No. I don't know for sure that it's Sammy's blood...

No, Sammy, it's not too late. I'm gonna save you, you hear me? Hang on, little brother. Hang on, wherever you are.

_I will always save you, no matter what_.

"Dad!" he yelled. "I found something!"

...

An hour later, Dean and John had come to the end of the plains and therefore the tracks, to find themselves on a busy highway into a small town. Dean did not hesitate and nor did he wait for orders from his father, he just drive straight on into the town. He did not know what he was looking for, he just could not bear to admit that they had lost the scent yet again. This was his last chance.

How he expected to find Sam here he did not know. He just could not accept that he had failed again.

At that moment his cellphone buzzed and he glanced at the caller ID to see that it was his father calling from the truck. He picked it up-maybe he had found something.

"Dean? You know how Sam's cell was broken?"

Dean knew it. He had tried to call Sam so many times and for every one of them he had just heard the bleeping of the dialling tone, on and on and on, never even reaching voicemail. Just that infuriating beeping that meant Sam was beyond their reach. Broken phone was the most logical explanation.

"Yeah. So?"

John sounded grimly pleased. "Well, I'm still not getting through but I got a missed call from _someone_, just came up. From a week ago. I tried calling back and I'm getting nothing, but I think I'm gonna be able to trace it."

"From someone?" Dean was sceptical.

"I know it's a long shot, but Sam could have borrowed a phone, right? It's worth checking out."

Dean nodded, though his dad could not see him. "Tell me when you have something." And he ended the call.

Oh, Sammy...please...why'd you have to disappear on me? You know I'd do anything to keep you safe...anything...

What really scared him was how much he meant it.

**Dean and John are on their way...please review as always!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you so much everyone who reviewed and don't worry-Dean and John are on their way! This is the big reunion-but how is it going to work out? **

Chapter 7:

Sam was struggling to regain his strength. Dr Pierce had disappeared and Sam had not seen him for several hours, and the drugs were beginning to wear off a little. Now was his chance...he knew that the doctor was trying to help him, but Sam had his own agenda. He had never been content to sit and allow others to protect him-somehow he had to get stronger so that he could fight his own battles once again.

He was going to be living on his own once he got out of here, after all, without his family...and he could not go to Bobby's or any other hunter, in case they found him there. He needed to be able to defend himself.

He stood up and the world flashed and spun around him. He lurched sideways and stumbled into the wall, using it to prop himself up as he struggled not to pass out. He could not be like this forever. To survive he was going to have to be stronger than ever before.

He no longer had Dean to look after him and it hurt worse than anything. All his life, right from that moment when John had placed him in his older brother's arms to rescue when he was only six months old, the night his mother died, Dean had watched out for him, been everything to him. Sure, Sam had loved his father, however much they argued and however much he knew he was a disappointment to a man who already had one ideal son. But Dean was everything to him. He could not imagine living in a world where Dean was not there for him, and yet now he was going to have to. Because his family hated him and would kill him if they ever found him, and he could not go back to them, no matter what. He knew it like he knew his own name.

Standing at last he wondered where his old clothes were; he was still wearing only hospital pyjamas. Maybe in the case beside the bed, he thought...carefully he bent down to see, the movement blasting his injured ribs, and sure enough he could see a pair of slightly tattered jeans and a T-shirt he recognised as his own. Actually, he recognised them as having once belonged to Dean...

Well you damn well don't have anything else, so suck it up. He dragged them out onto the bed and at that moment a wave of dizziness passed over him, so intense that he swayed and went down on the floor; automatically his left hand went out to steady him and he gave a short cry of pain as the broken wrist seared. He lay there, blinking black dots out of his vision, furious at his own weakness. For God's sake, this was probably due to the stupid drugs more than his own injuries... something in his mind rejected this. Dr Pierce was only trying to help you, he chastised himself. He's the one person you can trust.

Get up, Sam. Stop being so _weak_.

With a fierce effort Sam raised himself up on his elbows, eyes narrowed against the agony shooting through his body. Somehow he got his knees underneath him and, gripping the side of the bed, forced himself onto it. Gasping and trying hard not to pass out again he managed to bring himself into a sitting position and briefly wrapped his arms around his middle in a vain effort to block out the pain in his broken, bruised ribs. Then, determined, he reached for the pile of clothes and as carefully as he could struggled into the jeans. It was absolute agony on his body, but with a kind of masochistic fervour he persevered, then fell back on the bed, breathing hard. He had not thought it was possible to hurt this much.

And since when is it an epic battle to get dressed, Sam Winchester? Get on with it.

Somehow he got the shirt on over his cast and injured ribs. He was furious with himself, though he knew technically he could not help this. He was just so weak...maybe this is why Dad and Dean hate me...

I can't let myself believe that. I can't.

At last he sat there, exhausted, thinking hard about only two things. One was that he was fighting not to simply collapse back onto the bed and black out; the other was what on earth he was going to do now.

At that moment there was an angry bang on the door and a muffled cursing from the other side. Sam looked up sharply, alarmed. Another bang, and a voice cried out: "Hey-Sammy? You in there?"

It was a voice he knew better than his own, and it was the voice that had roused him from countless nightmares, reassured him, reproached him, teased him...it was _Dean_. The voice that had agreed to abandon him by the ground, leaving him to die.

The voice of the man who was going to kill him.

Sam got up slowly, all weariness momentarily forgotten. He had to defend himself, that was all there was to it. He needed a weapon...he glanced around the room but it was almost bare...then he noticed the drip the IV needles in his hand had been attached to before he pulled them out. He reached up, never taking his eyes off the door, and with an effort unhooked the bag of liquid from the top, then hefted it in his hand. It was heavy in his weakened state, but not too heavy. _It might just work..._only then did he become aware of the all-consuming terror pulsing through him and had to take several deep breaths to calm himself.

The banging on the door was getting harder. There were two people out there, Sam now realised, and there were no prizes for guessing who the second one was.

"I can't pick it, it's not working..."

"Just knock it down, Dad, Sam's in there, I know he is!"

Sam scowled to hide his fear, gripping the makeshift weapon so tightly his hand ached. How do they know I'm here? How'd they find me?

How am I going to get out of this one?

A noise like something heavy being slammed into the door, and it shuddered. Again, and again, and then finally, with a crash like the world falling apart, the door came off its hinges and slammed to the ground. Sam stumbled back in panic, pressing himself against the wall-and two men charged inside.

Dean squinted through the dust at the figure standing pressed against the wall. "Sammy?" he called, still unable to see properly. "Sam?"

"How'd you find me?" came the question, in that voice he knew so well, but fierce and terrified. Puzzled as his vision cleared, to his eternal relief Dean finally caught sight of his little brother standing against the back wall, holding some kind of pole in one hand. He strode forwards with a laugh of joy.

"Thank God, Sammy..."

The boy flung out his free arm to stop him, and Dean noticed that it was in a cast. For the first time he registered the bandages on his brother's head and neck as well, that he was barefoot and bloodstained and so thin he looked gaunt. He realised also that it the boy's eyes were filled with an emotion that could only be described as utter terror. He stopped, confused.

"Sammy-"

"Stay away from me!"

Dean blinked. "Sam, it's me, Dean. We've been looking for you for over a week now."

John stepped forwards at that moment and Sam's eyes widened with fear.

"Sam, what's wrong?" his father demanded. "Who did this to you?"

"No...for God's sake get away from me..." He was shaking violently and it scared Dean more than anything. All he knew was that Sammy was hurt, and that for some reason he was afraid of him...his thoughts were abruptly cut off as his little brother swayed and collapsed suddenly down by the wall, and Dean dashed across the room and pulled him into his arms, feeling his pulse.

"Sammy? Can you hear me?"

Sam's hazel eyes flickered and opened, staring wildly around until they focused on Dean's face above him, and once more panic flared there, and he struggled away, shoving out of his brother's grip onto the floor and backing up against the wall, one hand held out.

"Just leave me alone..." His voice was shaky, hoarse with pain. It broke Dean up inside that he would not let them help him.

"Sammy, please, it's me, for God's sake...me, your awesome big brother, remember?" Maybe he had amnesia or something; he'd definitely been beaten up, and God help the bastard who was responsible for it. "Look, who did this to you? Can you remember?"

"Hell yeah," Sam snarled. "Like you don't know. Just go away and leave me alone and I won't come looking for you, I'll just go...just tell me why..."

Things were beginning to come together in Dean's mind, slowly due to his absolute amazement. "Wait..." he said slowly. "Sammy...you think we did this to you?"

"Of course you did," Sam whispered. "I _remember_. And I'm not coming away with you just so you can finish the job."

Dean stared at him in utter astonishment. "_What_?"

John came forwards and crouched down beside his sons, only to see Sam shrink away in obvious fear. "Sam," he said swiftly, quietly. "Sam, we didn't do this to you," he murmured, trying to calm the panicked boy. "I promise."

"I remember it," Sam returned angrily. "You nearly killed me and then Dean drove us away to nowhere and you left me there by the road." His eyes were suddenly filled with pain. "Why'd you do that?"

"We didn't, son," John said, stunned. "Who told you..."

"I don't need to be told." He gripped the edge of the bed and tried to pull himself up; his face twisted with pain and Dean jumped up to help him, but Sam cried out.

"No! Don't touch me!"

"What's going on here?" came another voice, cultured and shocked. Dean whipped round so fast he cricked his neck.

"Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Dr Pierce," the tall, dark-haired man who entered said. "I think that who you are is more the question."

"Was it you told Sam we tried to kill him?" Dean demanded, advancing on the doctor, but the older man shook his head.

"So you're his brother? I should've known...I told him nothing. He remembered by himself."

"Like hell he did," Dean snarled, clenching his fists, but Sam's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"He's telling the truth, Dean...unlike you."

Dean whirled on him, unable to bear the pain. That his baby brother could look at him with such fear and anger in his eyes...that he could be so hurt and wounded and not even let Dean help him...nothing hurt Dean as much as that.

"I think we should all have a little talk about this," Dr Pierce said calmly. "Somewhere the door isn't smashed down."

"I think I'd like to talk to my brother alone," Dean said venomously.

"Well," Dr Pierce returned breezily. "I don't think your brother looks very happy about that idea himself."

Dean took an angry step forwards, but his father grabbed him from behind, preventing him from simply jumping on the doctor.

"Dean. We'll _talk_." John's gaze flicked to the doctor. "Here, in this room, with Sammy."

"Very well." Dr Pierce crossed to the bed, put his hands under Sam's arms and lifted the boy up onto the bed again, prompting an outraged hiss from Dean. "What is it you want to talk about, Mr Winchester?" the doctor said coolly to his father. "Assuming you are John Winchester, that is."

"What happened to my son?" John demanded. Dr Pierce raised an eyebrow.

"He says, and it certainly makes more sense than anything else, that you are the ones responsible for this."

"And why the hell would he say that?" Dean said angrily. "Because you, you asshole, did something to him, I'm not stupid..." Suddenly it hit him. The warehouse. Sam's dream and then subsequent disappearance into the aether. Sam had gone to the warehouse and someone had taken him away from it.

Maybe that someone was right here in the room with them. Maybe they had missed something up at Tesden Incorporated.

"Hey," he said suddenly. "Hate to interrupt the moment, but I've gotta be somewhere. And I gotta take Sammy with me."

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to take him, under the circumstances," Dr Pierce stated. Dean shrugged. "I wasn't asking for permission."

John stared hard at Dean, trying to work out what he was talking about.

"See, I think I know where this whole mess began," Dean explained. "So I'll be taking Sammy up there and we'll be back soon as we've sorted this out..."

"I'm not going anywhere..." Sam began forcefully, and then John spoke up.

"Why don't we all go?" he suggested. "Wherever it is you need to, Dean. I think we should all head up together."

Dean glanced at his father, whose face was utterly innocent. This sounded bad, but there was no other way. Maybe just maybe they had the beginnings of a plan.

And he would walk through hell itself if that was the only way to save Sammy.

**Dean would walk through hell to save Sammy...i had to put that bit in...**

**Please review I will really appreciate it!**


	8. Chapter 8

**So-what is Dean planning to do...and will Sam ever remember what really happened? Thanks so much for commenting everyone who did!**

Chapter 8:

It was not the most cheerful of car journeys.

Dean drove, of course, as it was his car, and his father sat in the passenger seat. Behind him, eyes boring into their backs, was Dr Pierce. Beside the doctor, curled up small and refusing to admit how much he must have been hurting, was Sam.

It had certainly been a bizarre hospital to walk through, eerily silent, utterly deserted. By the time they had finally made the decision to leave Sam had been only semiconscious, scarily weakened by whatever had happened to him. And Dean thought he knew, too-somehow this Dr Pierce was involved, and only a rare moment of caution had prevented Dean from attacking him on the spot. If he had done so he knew that Sammy would only have seen it as reinforcing his earlier convictions-that John and Dean really had been the cause of his ending up in this state. And so Dean had not injured the doctor in any way, instead lifting his weakly protesting little brother in his arms and carrying him out to the car. He had been amazed at how light Sam was-or maybe just how strong he felt when his brother was in any trouble.

And then it had hit him-someone had been messing with his car.

He had reached it, Sam cradled protectively in his arms, and the sight of the Impala had stopped him dead. Its mirrors were shattered-the wing mirrors as well as those inside the car. He had frozen, amazed and furious-how did that make sense? Someone had broken into the car, smashed all the mirrors and locked it up again? And who?

Instantly he had been ready to suspect Dr Pierce, but the man had been with them all the time...

What was it that Dean was not supposed to see?

But there had been nothing to be done, only open the doors and place his brother inside. He wasn't leaving this car full of weapons behind, not for anything.

How could Sam not see that Dr Pierce was untrustworthy? He had locked the kid into that room, for God's sake. And did Sam not think it strange that the hospital should be so empty or that he was allowed to be discharged, even under the doctor's guard, when he could barely even walk? How had Sam become so certain that Dr Pierce was the one person in the world he could trust? Sure, Dean thought, Sam did tend to trust too easily, he was far more innocent than made sense after a life like his. But this was beyond trust-it was like his brother had been enchanted, hypnotised, or something. Dean did not like it.

He just hated glancing behind him and seeing Sam there, curled on his seat, eyes closed though Dean did not think he was asleep, face streaked with sweat, clearly sick, his floppy hair falling into his face over the bandage around his head. Too scared of his nightmares to trust his own brother and father. Too confused and weakened to see that he was being influenced by someone else, maybe to his death.

Dean just wanted to get Sammy out of this, quickly. And then waste whatever bastard had done it to him, preferably very slowly, over a long period of time.

The highway was sweeping past them, though night was falling by now. Dean knew that it would be another hour or so before they reached the warehouse. A part of him wanted to pull over and give Sam some water, put a blanket over him, even just brush the sweaty hair out of his eyes-but Sam would see it all as a trap, he knew it. He was convinced that he and his father hated him and meant to kill him, and there was nothing Dean could do about that until they reached the warehouse.

It was a long shot, he knew. But he knew there was something about that place-Sam had seen it in his dream, and then it had suddenly turned out to exist? It could not be a mere coincidence. And then there were clear signs that Sam-probably, anyhow-had been taken forcibly away from the place, and then to find him in the charge of this bizarre doctor? And the Impala's broken mirrors? In Dean's experience it was enough. There was something up at that warehouse that someone wanted hidden, and Sam had walked right into the middle of it. And Dr Pierce, he too was a key player. Maybe whatever this was was all his operation.

Sam suddenly opened his eyes, and Dean could see the panic and uncertainty in them, before he calmed a little, realising where he was. His expression became wary, and Dean noticed a kind of pain that had nothing to do with his physical injuries in his brother's face. How much must it hurt, he thought, to believe that your father and brother nearly killed you? To believe that they hate you so badly? For someone as sensitive as Sammy, that must be the worst thing of all.

"Where're we going?" Sam said, his voice a hoarse whisper. It was the first time he had spoken since being deposited in the backseat by his older brother. Dean grimaced, unwilling to say it in front of Dr Pierce. He had not even been able to tell his father yet, though he suspected that John might have guessed.

"Yes, I'd rather like to know that myself," the doctor commented, an edge to his voice. "If it's far then it would be better if you pulled over for the night. Your brother's injured, remember."

"Really?" Dean said angrily. "Thanks for the reminder. No, it's not far, but it feel free to get out and go home if you're bored."

"I," Dr Pierce returned, "Am here to protect my patient from two suspected child abusers."

Dean nearly crashed the car. "You shut your bloody mouth!" he yelled. "You call _us_ child abusers? What the hell kinda sick game are you playing anyway?"

"I would have thought the sick ones were those who wilfully beat up and abandoned a sixteen year old boy, their own family no less, actually," Dr Pierce said coolly. Dean made as if to pull over so he could finally go and punch the living daylights out of the asshole in the back, when his father put a hand on his arm, warning him. Dean took a deep breath and jammed a finger at the cassette player instead. Metallica filled the car, loud and crashing. _Fade to Black_.

It was a sign of just how broken Sam was that he did not even open his mouth to complain about the choice of music.

After a while Dean saw that he _was_ trying to say something, his hoarse voice inaudible over the music. A little shamed, he turned it quickly down. "What is it, Sammy?"

"Are we going to a warehouse in the desert?" Sam asked warily. "_Tesden Incorporated Storage Since 1987, Indiana_?" He sounded as if he was reeling words off from a schoolbook-or his memory. Dean stared at him, amazed, almost forgetting to keep an eye on the road. Hell, driving was difficult without mirrors...Dr Pierce looked even more shocked.

"Why would we be going there, Sam?" he said, very quietly. His tone almost menacing.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know."

"Have you ever been there before?"

Yes, Dean wanted to yell. We found your medal, Sammy! But he remained silent, and shock filled him at his brother's words.

"No. But I dreamed about it in the hospital and again, just now."

You've been there! Dean thought desperately. C'mon Sammy, you must have! So how the hell don't you remember? And you dreamed it before, too...it was like his brother's memory of the night he had disappeared had just been warped beyond belief, somehow. Parts of it wiped clear, others invented. But how could that be?

What's happened to you, Sammy?

They drove in silence after that, until at last the warehouse loomed up against the flat desert before them, and Dean pulled the car up in front of it for the second time that day.

"Well, here we are, folks. C'mon, Sammy..."

Sam was staring at it in total shock. "I've been here before," he said in amazement. "Only I haven't."

"Well, that makes more sense than anything you've said all day, little brother," Dean told him, and got out of the car. He was about to open Sam's door and help his little brother out when he saw what Dr Pierce was doing-he was holding Sam's wrist in one hand and a syringe was positioned just above it, about to stab into the boy's arm.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, and flung open the door, startling Sam, who almost fell out of it. "What the hell are you doing to my brother?" He snatched the syringe out of the startled doctor's hand and threw it to the ground, where it smashed. Dr Pierce glared.

"Surely even you can see Sam's in pain, Dean. I'm a doctor, I'm trying to help him."

"Like hell you are," Dean spat, and took Sam's arm. The boy shook free, the fear returning to his white, bruised face.

"Get off me, I can do it myself." He got out of the car, holding tightly to the side of the door, and managed to stand upright with what was clearly an effort, biting his lip against the pain. Dean's heart went out to him but he knew the only way of getting through to his brother was to somehow work out what was going on in this warehouse, and whatever Dr Pierce had to do with it. John and the doctor both got out of the car, and Dean, unwilling to open the trunk and reveal to the doctor where he kept his weaponry, set off for the warehouse door with only the comforting weight of the pistol in the back of his jeans. He went right to the door they had opened earlier and stopped, surprised-it was locked once more.

"Why are we here?" came Sam's voice, unexpectedly close, from behind. Dean turned, to see his little brother standing at his shoulder, swaying slightly but looking at him through hard, scared hazel eyes. Automatically he put out a hand to take Sam's arm, but the boy drew back, not letting himself be touched.

"This is where you get your own mind back," Dean told him flatly, and Sam looked taken aback. Dean ignored this and began to pick the lock of the warehouse door again. Trying to believe that Sam would remember again. That he would not look at his older brother forever with such pain and fear in his eyes.

The warehouse was dark and still inside, as Dean remembered it. His father and Dr Pierce walked at the back of the group, side by side and silent, as if each guarding the other. Sam came behind Dean, who instinctively made sure not to walk too fast, as he could see that his brother was extremely weak. He looked as if he was going to collapse at any moment.

Dean led the way up the stairs, not sure what he was looking for, only that there had to be something, anything that they had missed. Had to. He shone his flashlight around the upper floor, seeing his father do the same, seeing Dr Pierce standing there as if he had never seen anything like it...

A crash. Dean turned. Sam was standing across the room, beside an old filing cabinet, and he was pulling at it, trying to move it. Dean could see the sweat standing out on his forehead, could see the effort it cost him. Dr Pierce stepped forwards, suddenly, an expression of alarm flashing across his face, and Dean surged towards his brother as well. And with a final burst of strength Sam flung the filing cabinet aside and fell to the ground, knocking inwards the hidden door that had been behind the cabinet, and a burst of shadow surged forwards, smothering Sam's prone figure until nothing could be seen of him. Dean just heard him scream.

**Sorry about the cliffie but I just had to...please review but don't kill me?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you all reviewers I'm pretty sure I answered all of them? There's a bit more explanation in this chapter-as I said before, these wraiths are a little different from in the series! Hope you enjoy...**

Chapter 9:

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, racing across the room to where his brother lay smothered by the shadows. "Sam?" He fell to his knees beside the roiling black mess that had been his brother and began swiping desperately at it-finally he found Sam's arm and dragged him clear, holding him close, turning his shoulder to the darkness in order to try and protect Sam. It surged upwards in a great roiling mass, and Dean stumbled back, Sam limp and trembling in his arms. He could feel every laboured breath right through his own body but not for anything would he let him go. The shadow loomed above the Winchester brothers, both still on their knees, helpless, and Dean curled himself around Sammy in a vain effort to defend him.

A gunshot.

And a bullet bright as the sun fired straight into the centre of the shadow, which twisted and hissed and then dispersed, and John stood behind his sons, a pistol in each hand, both loaded with silver bullets.

"Dad?" Dean said in amazement. His father bent swiftly beside him.

"How's Sam?"

Dean loosened his grip and Sam fell forwards, only to be caught by his father before he could hit the ground. The boy's face was grey and he seemed unconscious, but he was still breathing. In that instant of panic both hunters had forgotten Dr Pierce.

And now he lunged forwards and his hands seized Dean around the neck, dragging him upright. Dean yelled in shock and struggled, but the doctor hit him around the head so hard he was dazed. John rose, clutching his weakly-stirring younger son around the shoulders, supporting him against his own body.

"Don't move, Dean," he said softly, knowing that the doctor was strong enough to break his son's neck. "Let him go, wraith," he snarled. "Or I'll blast you into oblivion."

Dr Pierce smiled. "However did you guess who I was?" he asked cheerfully. "It was hidden so well..."

"Why else would you smash the mirrors in the car?" John hissed. "To hide your true appearance. You messed with Sam's mind and that was another clue. And then your friends back there, scared of silver bullets?" He shrugged. "Turns out I guessed right. How about you tell me exactly what you did to Sam? You stick your disgusting probe in his head?"

"Actually no. It was an interesting process," Dr Pierce agreed. "We may be subtly different beings from those you know, John, and certainly more powerful. Less crude. My powers of persuasion are extremely advanced and I know of no-one else who could have fought them as hard as your boy did. His faith in his family was strong, John-I gave him false memories stronger than any before and still he fought me. You would have been proud of him. But the drugs worked. Specially created by yours truly to make Sam believe anything I told him. As I said, I am not just any wraith. I have powers beyond your wildest imaginings."

He was not telling them that right now he, as the bound leader of the wraiths and container of their main power source, was weak. He had been just about to feed off Sam when the boy's family had interrupted, and had not had the chance to booster his powers. Now he was at his most vulnerable.

But they did not have to know that.

"You bastard!" Dean snarled. "Why'd you do it anyway?"

"What else could I have done?" he sighed cryptically, then turned his attention back to John. "So we come to a stalemate. You can walk out of here taking your kids with you, and leave us to our own business. Or I can kill the boy-Dean, isn't it?-quickly followed by you and little Sammy, and then continue anyway." He gave a shark's grin."It's your choice, Winchester."

Sam twisted in his father's grip, trying to find his feet, and John glanced down at him, then looked back up.

"Or I could just shoot you," he said conversationally. "Tell you what. How about we check out exactly what you've got stashed in the back room."

Dr Pierce nodded. "Very well," he said, and pushing Dean in front of him turned and headed through. Sam opened his eyes at last and found himself staring up into his father's face. Fear flashed in his eyes and he tried to pull away, but John stopped him.

"No, Sammy. Stay still."

"No-don't touch me-"

John ignored his protests-he was too weak to do any damage-and half-carried him through after Dr Pierce and Dean.

...

Dean was hating this like poison. For one thing he was helpless in this man's grasp, and the only thing keeping him from fighting back was his father's orders. And to have found out that he was a wraith-well, that was far from comforting. Dean had not encountered them very often before, but he knew that they were dangerous. And knowing that Sam had been in their clutches for over a week, the life being steadily drained out of him...though at least now he knew that silver would kill them.

And now this.

The children, piled against the wall of the warehouse like so much rubbish, surrounded by indistinct shadows, all seeming unconscious, as weak as Sam had been...

It was too much. Dean, forgetting his father's orders, sprang into action so fast he surprised the doctor. He swung round and punched him in the face, so hard that the wraith stumbled back. Just for an instant his human face faltered and Dean caught a glimpse of the shadowy rot behind it. He hit him again, only to have his fist caught and twisted; pain shot through his whole arm, making him wonder if it was broken, and he fought not to scream. Already the doctor was on him, fists smashing into his face, his throat, and Dean suddenly wondered if this was what had happened to Sammy. The thought gave him new strength and he tore himself away just as John stepped through, still holding Sam tight against him, as much to support the boy as to stop him running and his mouth fell open at the sight of the captured children. Then anger. His eyes flickered off Dean, bleeding from the nose but not seriously injured, and pushed Sam to his brother before drawing his silver pistols-it was just a good job, Dean thought, that his father always came prepared for _anything_. He drew back, holding Sam close as his father had, then realised his brother was trying to say something.

"Sammy?"

"We gotta...we have to...the kids...I dreamed this..." He struggled out of Dean's grip as he spoke and managed to stand, leaning against the wall, face white with red spots on his cheeks, like fever. Dean could not tell any longer whom his brother thought was the enemy. John was training the guns on Dr Pierce and his face was twisted with rage.

Dr Pierce shrugged and lifted his arms. A high, wailing cry came from his mouth, and with that the hordes of shadows lining the walls simply rose up and surged forwards towards the Winchesters. John fired into the shadow but only one of them fell back, and even as they watched the others began to change and morph, changing shape, landing. The first stood taller than six feet, but its face was a rotting hollow of terrifying insanity, the mouth twisted into a rictus grin, the eyes black hollows that seemed to have no eyeball, and already the others, all similar, were ranging behind it. John fired again and again but they just kept coming-

John glanced down at his weapons. Eight bullets left in the two of them. At least twice as many wraiths.

"Dean, get your brother outa here!" he yelled. "_Run_!"

"You can't hide from us," Dr Pierce breathed. John took a step back, fired once to create some confusion, then shoved his two sons out of that nightmare room in front of him. The plan was, now, simply to hide until they could get back and save the children-but there was no way of getting past the wraiths now. They had no choice but to run.

All was chaos for Sam then. He knew that he was running, plunging through the shadowy rooms and passages of the warehouse. He knew that there was someone with him but he was not sure who-his vision kept blurring and shifting and he could tell that he did not have much more to give. He could hear the screaming of the wraiths behind him, hear someone close by telling him to keep going, supporting him when he stumbled...and then he fell and things grew even more confusing. There was a rush of movement and light and pain, and he had to close his eyes against the dizzying madness surrounding him. Someone gripped him round the shoulders and he cried out, struggling blindly. Someone else screamed his name as if in horror.

"No! Sammy!"

And then darkness, quiet, and he lay panting and shaking on the foul-smelling wooden floor. He heard footsteps, and someone crept close to him and touched his hand.

"Sam?"

He no longer knew friend from foe, reality from dream. He looked up and there was nothing in the eyes that stared back at him to help him. Anything could be a trick, anything could happen now. He only knew that he was alone in this dark room with this person, and he was entirely at their mercy simply because he was too weak to fight anyone off by now. He struggled into a sitting position, glaring through the strands of his hair in his face, and waited to meet his doom.

**...who is it? Who has Sam been trapped with?**

**Yes, that last bit was meant to be as chaotic as it came out, to show how confused Sammy is I guess...I would love it if you'd tell me what you think!**


	10. Chapter 10

**The brothers have a little heart-to-heart...can Dean reach Sammy before it's too late?**

Chapter 10:

"Sammy, are you okay?" Dean asked softly. His little brother looked terrified, broken-a low shaking ran through his whole body and his face was white and bruised. His wide hazel eyes, however, were fierce and defiant as ever. The odds of this happening...that the floor would give way and send the brothers plunging downwards...Dean had not stopped to think, just grabbed the semiconscious Sam's arm and pulled him on until they could no longer hear the wraiths, barricaded them in so he could try and get a look at how Sam was doing...

"Go ahead," Sam whispered. "Kill me. I don't care."

But he did care. Hell, he cared so much...he was scared, and confused, and he no longer knew who to trust, who was the enemy. Who had locked those kids up there? Was it Dr Pierce? Could it have been Dean and Dad? He would never have thought it of them, but then he would never have thought that they could do what they had to him, either. He knew it was true. He knew it.

But why had they bothered to lie and deny it?

And what were the shadows, anyway? Wraiths? His father had said so...but he had also said Dr Pierce was a wraith, and Sam knew that that could not be true. And how had he suddenly ended up here, alone with Dean?

Dean felt a pain like no other at his brother's words. "I'm not going to hurt you, Sammy," he said quietly. "I'd never hurt you. But Dr Pierce has, and he's blamed it on me and Dad..."

"_No_," Sam returned with a kind of desperation. "No, he told me the _truth_, he _did_, I _know_ it..." Dean only knew that the unconquerable fear and confusion in Sam's voice as he spoke the words could just be his only chance of reaching his scared, anguished little brother.

"No, Sammy," Dean said with an uncharacteristic gentleness. "No, he's a wraith in human disguise who drugged you and used his powers on you, gave you false memories to make you do whatever he said. I guess he never expected you to _dream_ about his masterplan, huh, however the hell _that'_s possible..."

"He saved me. He tried to help me." Sam sounded weak and desperate, clinging to the faintest of certainties as if it were a lifeline.

"He nearly killed you," Dean told him. "Don't ask me why he bothered to set up the whole hospital crap. Why he didn't just kill you right away. I guess he knows. But it was him that beat you up, and it's his powers that are making you so sick now."

Sam pushed away from him, backing up against the wall and curling up into himself, head buried in his folded arms, eyes clenched shut as his mind fought the pull of the wraith powers. "_No_," he breathed. "No...no..."

Dean persevered and came closer, reaching out to pull the trembling boy into his arms. So what if it was a bit of a chick flick moment. Sam needed him. And he took it as a good sign that his brother did not pull away-his body tensed up, but he allowed Dean to hold him.

"It's me, Sammy," Dean pleaded. "It's me. I'm so sorry I let this happen to you...I swear I'll get you out of this, you know that. I'm here with you, Sammy...I'm here...you're gonna be okay, I promise..." Sam shuddered against him and Dean heard him give a soft cry as if of pain, but all he could do was hold him tighter, rocking slightly as he had when Sam was only a little kid and scared of thunderstorms, or monsters under the bed, or where Dad had gone this time. Or his nightmares of fire. Dr Pierce had forced his mind into the shape he wanted it, but Dean was determined that it would not be too late to bring his brother back. As far as he was concerned, the lead wraith had underestimated a number of vital criteria. One was the love and skills that had brought Sam's family to find him; another was Sam's own innate strength. And, _chick flick_ though it might sound, how well Dean and Sam knew each other, and how deeply they loved each other.

Sam's shaking increased and his cries came faster and louder. Dean could only guess at the inner battle he must be fighting and it tore him up inside that he could not help him. Sam's body tensed and his head jerked back, almost hitting the wall, and with his face exposed Dean could see the pain and the determination etched into it. He gave a gasp and then suddenly went limp against Dean, breathing shallowly, motionless.

"Sammy. Sammy, c'mon..."

Sam looked up through dazed hazel eyes. He looked completely exhausted. But still, weak though he was, he managed a small smile. Dean felt his heat soar within him.

"Didn't I say you could do it? Knew you were stronger than that filthy old wraith, Sammy!"

"Dean..." Sam whispered. "Dean, I'm so sorry..."

Dean could have laughed out loud with relief. "Don't be sorry, Sam," he said softly. "None of this is your fault. You stay here, okay, and I'll go and find Dad...there's not much time..."

"No," Sam said determinedly. "No, this is my fault and I'm coming with you."

"Sammy-"

"I'm coming, Dean! And it's _Sam_!"

Dean stared into those deep hazel eyes and he saw a stubbornness there that he recognised perfectly. Sam as a child-_I don't want to go to bed_! Sam older, facing off to their father. It was a look that mean Sam Winchester could not be swayed, no matter what. The kid could hardly walk at all and yet Dean knew that somehow Sam was going to do this.

"Fine," he said at last. "But you stay behind me, you hear?"

….

John was cornered. He had seen his boys go plunging down through the rotten floor, and all he had been able to think was that at least they were together. He had not even been able to see them but from the wraiths' howls of fury he knew that they must have survived the fall. And that meant that Dean could still look after Sammy.

In the meantime, it was up to John to lead the others away.

That was what he had been doing for the past ten minutes, running blindly and desperately through the corridors of the warehouse, dodging wraiths and occasionally firing into their midst, sometimes taking down one or two. But the he had come up against a flat wall, dead-end. He was trapped. And he turned, pistols at the ready, one with two silver bullets left, the other with three, to face his doom.

Dr Pierce stepped out in front of the mass of wraiths and smiled. "So, John," he said. "Any last words?"

John stood erect and proud, refusing to show his fear. He would never kill the demon responsible for Mary's death, and at the idea a sharp twinge of pain went through his heart. Mary...I'm so sorry...but at least Sam and Dean could look after each other. When he died at least he would know that much for sure.

"Do what you want with me," he said fiercely. "At least when my boys finally waste you I'll be able to look down on you in the flames and laugh."

The doctor's face hardened, and he pressed in on the helpless man standing before him. John raised the guns and he halted.

"Put them down, Winchester, you can't fight us all."

"No?" John breathed. "I can damn well try."

"No! _NO_! Stop!"

It was a voice John knew so well he could summon it in his dreams, and the two running figures who accompanied it were just as familiar. Sam-Dean-

_No_!

He watched them approach with the quality of a nightmare, Dean in the lead, pulling Sam after him. Weak though he undoubtedly was, the younger boy gave his condition no thought in his race to reach his father. But the wraiths spun about, blocking their path. They halted, shocked. Dean glanced up at his father and there was a desperate plea for forgiveness in his eyes-Sam, bizarrely, looked like he was preparing for a fight. Why, when all was lost?

Suddenly the boy stepped forwards. Surprised, the wraiths moved to bar his way but Sam just kept walking, pushing away their grasping hands. His eyes were half-closed.

"Let him come," Dr Pierce called out. He sounded slightly amused-slightly afraid. As if he was not sure what to make of this either. Blindly obedient, the wraiths made a channel between them which Sam walked steadily through. When Dean tried to follow they threw him back and he yelled in fury.

"Sam, no!"

Sam finally reached the end of the crowd and stood before his father and the doctor. He had opened his eyes fully and stared at John blankly; the hunter felt a chill of uncertainty go through him. Like he no longer knew which side his son was on.

"Sam," he said swiftly. "Sam, c'mon, kid, it's me, your Dad, you have to believe I would never hurt you like that..." He did not know what Dean might have told him, did not understand what could be going through Sam's mind. But _something_ was wrong.

"Sam," Dr Pierce said quietly. "Sam, you don't believe them, do you? You know they're lying..." He was thinking that, although he had not drugged Sam at all recently, enough of the substance should be in his system to make him susceptible to the wraith powers, especially in his current weakened condition, and surrounded by so many of them...

Sam raised his head. "No," he said. "No, I don't believe them. They tried to kill me. What d'you want me to do?"

As Dean and John felt their last ray of hope vanish entirely, Dr Pierce gave a broad smile. Sam had finally stopped fighting, and now he was entirely at the wraiths' mercy. Finally, at this most desperate hour, Sam Winchester was theirs. This could be their salvation, he knew. If he could get Sam alone and drug him again, just enough to drain him completely, his powers would be magnified to the extend of being able to take down Dean and John with just a glance. It would be easy enough to simply leave the other wraiths guarding John and Dean, and take Sam away. Then return with the ultimate execution weapon.

It was a risk, but he could do it.

"I want you to come with me, Sam," he said gently. "I want to get you somewhere safe and then call the police on your family."

"No, Sammy!" Dean yelled in sudden panic. "No, can't you see the wraiths? Can't you see them?"

"There are no wraiths, Sam," the doctor said urgently, desperately relying on Sam's utter obedience to him to salvage this. "They're hallucinations your family is building on to try and trap you." He reached out and took Sam's arm-the other Winchesters could not move, separated and at a stalemate. All they could do was scream. "Don't you touch him!" Dean was yelling. John was brandishing his pistols, though he could not fire with Dean in such a vulnerable position.

And with his contact, Dr Pierce poured what power he could still spare into Sam. The boy shuddered violently and swayed, but the doctor grabbed him before he could fall. Dean shouted out again as Sam regained his footing, looking a little dazed.

"Come with me now, Sam," Dr Pierce said quietly. "Just follow me..." And Sam moved after him like a zombie towards the wraiths as the doctor pushed through. He stumbled as he passed his father, falling briefly against him, John staring at him in utter disbelief, and then he was gone into the mass of rot and shadow that parted before him and the doctor like the sea to Moses.

**What do you think? Does this count as a cliffy? Please let me know!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks so much for all your encouragement; also there will be 16 chapters altogether for this story just so you know! Most of you think that Sam is pretending to be under their control-well, you'll find out if you were right now!**

**I realise I've said this about three times but they are not really the same wraiths as in the series so please forgive me that!**

Chapter 11:

Dr Pierce was boiling with triumph inside as he led Sam out of the crowded corridor and into a small room at the side where they could talk. He had believed all was lost-so what if John's pistol only had three bullets left, it was enough to kill him, and the way things stood right now that was all that mattered-the Winchesters just did not have to know that.

He turned to face the boy in his charge, closing the door behind him. He expected to see Sam right behind him, maybe staring at the ground, at the very least looking afraid or confused. But this...Sam was looking right up at him, his hazel eyes fearless and determined. He seemed to have drawn a new wellspring of strength from somewhere, and now was holding on with all he had.

What worried the wraith was that he did not look dazed and exhausted and helpless as he should. On the contrary-he looked almost angry.

"I want the truth," Sam said quietly. "I know who you are and I know what you're doing. What I don't know is why. Why the hospital? You've got enough kids tied up upstairs. Why'd you bother with all the rest?"

Dr Pierce stared at him in dismay, and then his face hardened and he stepped forwards towards the boy. At that moment Sam's hand came up threateningly, and the wraith saw what he had hidden in his jeans-one of his father's silver pistols. And he froze.

"Tell me the truth," Sam repeated. "Or I swear to God I'll shoot you."

"Now, Sam," the wraith said in a cajoling tone, allowing a brief glimpse of his true, rotting face to flash into view, just for a moment, in an effort to scare Sam. But the young hunter's face did not even change. "You wouldn't really kill me. Nasty business, killing. You're not made for that."

"You're not human," Sam said, just a trace of panic in his voice. He was trying so hard not to let the doctor see how scared he was-not of the wraiths, but of the idea of really extinguishing this human-faced being's life, no matter what he had done. He's a monster, he told himself fiercely. Like any other you've fought. Vampire, skinwalker, werewolf, ghoul...they all have human faces but they're _evil_... "Tell me why you did this. What you were going to do to the kids."

"Surely you know something of my kind, Sam," the doctor said, never taking his eyes off the gun. "We can feed off emotions. Those children are experiencing similar traumatic dreams as you were, and we can feed off the emotions generated even in their sleep. They strengthen us."

"Why so many, all now?"

"We needed a reliable store of energy."

"Why? What were you going to do with it?"

Dr Pierce smiled suddenly, a shark's smile. "We were hungry," he said. "We planned to take over the town, if you must know. Just think of all the raw, fresh emotion in all those people, all those lives...intoxicating. We nearly had the strength to carry it out. But something got in the way."

"And what was that?" Sam demanded. He was shaking, he was far weaker than he had thought. He needed the truth, but he hoped it would not take long, because at this rate he was going to just keel over at the sadistic doctor's feet. No. I have to be strong or we're all dead...

"You, Sam," Dr Pierce said cheerfully. "You did. Quite simply by dreaming about us."

Sam blinked. "Dreaming about you? What the hell d'you mean?" Sure, he remembered the real events that had led to his going to the warehouse alone-how the wraiths had warped his memory to turn him against his family. But he had not quite got round to processing the fact that he had actually dreamed of the place before ever seeing it. Which was not possible.

"Didn't you make me dream it or something?"

"Now, what earthly reason could I have for that? I think you know very well what happened in your dream, Sam..." He looked hard at Sam, then smiled at the bewildered expression on the boy's face. "Is is possible that you don't know?"

Sam tightened his grip on the gun. "Don't know what?"

Dr Pierce shrugged, apparently refusing to say more. Fine, Sam thought. I'll ask you later, when I've got the whole story.

"So I came to the warehouse and I found the kids. You came across me there and beat me up, messed with my mind and brought me to some random fake hospital," Sam went on. "Why didn't you just kill me?"

Dr Pierce laughed softly. "It was a really genius idea, Sam. After inspecting your mind to find out how on earth you could have found us, I came up with the notion that you could be a lot more useful to us in terms of sustenance in a different way than the others. You are stronger, more experienced in these things, than them, a hunter...you would have fought us much harder had we simply left you with the other children. You would not have beaten us, certainly, but you would have impeded our feeding for some time and we could not afford that."

"I decided that to really make the most of your emotion and strength, the best way to go about it was a full-scale deception of the kind that would be the most painful to you. The more pain and anguish and confusion you felt, Sam, the stronger I became and the weaker you grew. It was a masterpiece of a plan." He shook his head. "You were stronger than even I thought, though. My mere powers of persuasion were not enough to sway you. I had to use drugs, contact...you wouldn't have lasted long. Wraiths and humans do not mix well."

Sam was very pale. "So you were just sucking me dry by feeding me fake nightmares, while I thought you were helping me."

"Indeed. Though it seems I underestimated both you and your family. I shall have to guard against such mistakes in the future. I and my minions, mere lesser wraiths bound to me...come, Sam, you could be useful to us. You could be powerful. Honoured. You fought harder than any other human I have ever fed on. You have great potential." He shrugged. "And, of course, you will die if you don't accept my offer. As I said, humans and wraiths do not mix, and you are infected with some pretty intensive wraith power, my boy. You will be dead in a day, maybe two, if you refuse me, supposing you survive this."

Sam stared at him. He was dying? Panic and horror filled him, and he was thrown. The doctor, seeing this, spoke again.

"And was it really all so fake, Sam? I built on fears and emotions you already had within you to create those dreams. I just made it all worse, your brother abandoning you, your father hurting you...I just built it up a little. Is it really worth dying for that?"

Sam was panicking now. Die? He did not want to die...but the doctor was wrong about Dean and Dad. So they weren't the perfect family all the time. So Sam had issues with them. But this? And then suddenly he saw the leering smile. His fear was what the doctor wanted. He raised his head, suddenly thinking clearly.

"Sorry," Sam said. "Not interested." And he cocked the pistol. Dr Pierce flung out a hand.

"You realise, boy, that if you shoot me, my minions down the corridor will simply kill your brother and father."

"I'm ordering you to tell them to back off," Sam said in a voice of deadly quiet. "Or I will shoot. Don't think I won't. I know how. Straight through the heart with a silver bullet. And my father has another gun, he won't go down that easy." And neither will I, he added silently. If I'm poisoned and dying then I am not going without a fight.

"They will both die!" the doctor hissed. "You won't hold your fire just because I do as you say! You'll shoot anyway! Why should I do any differently?"

"Because I...because you're dead right now if you don't." Could the doctor tell that it was an empty threat? That whenever Sam contemplated killing him all he could think of was how he had thought this man was helping him. So it was a lie-it was the same face and despite everything Sam knew that he could not do it. He could not kill the wraith.

Maybe he _was_ weak.

But Dr Pierce did not know that. And Sam's right hand was steady on the gun. The doctor wanted to win this-surely he would not risk death so soon...

" Very well," he said at last. "Come with me." He opened the door and stepped out into the corridor once more-Sam tensed and stumbled forwards, struggling to keep the gun held on target. He came close and pressed it into the doctor's back.

"Walk slow," he ordered.

"Certainly, Sam," the wraith answered, mock-courteously, and together they returned to the army of wraiths still guarding John and Dean. The two hunters had not moved-Dean of course had no idea that Sam had managed to take their father's gun, but neither could move for fear of the wraiths killing the other. John, having guessed that Sam was up to something, stood silent, eyes fixed on his older son, waiting-Dean, on the other hand, was clearly both furious and panicking. He had thought that he had _reached_ Sammy-how could it all have gone so wrong? They still had a dozen unconscious children to rescue, and Sam had gotten himself _brainwashed_...maybe even killed by now. The idea was torture.

And at that moment he saw Dr Pierce coming back down the corridor. At first he seemed to be alone-then Dean saw Sam directly behind him, holding one of their father's guns the barrel of which was pressed into the wraith leader's back. Dean's mouth fell open.

"Sam, are you...?"

"Now," Sam snarled at the doctor. "Tell them to let them go."

"If you insist, Sam," Dr Pierce said cheerfully, and he moved like lightning, spinning round and hitting the boy across the face so hard he fell backwards, hitting the ground hard and lying motionless, the silver pistol dropping from his hand. In that moment Dean had seconds to think-he flung himself at the ground just as the doctor lunged for it, snatched up the gun and aimed.

The doctor looked annoyed. "This is really getting quite tiresome, you know."

"Sam wouldn't've killed you," Dean breathed. "I guess you knew that. _But I will_." And he fired, straight at the wraith's heart. He watched the bullet enter the human shell. He watched as the doctor looked down in surprise at the tiny round wound there. And he watched the monster who had tortured his little brother collapse soundlessly to the ground, where in seconds it had turned to foul smoke and dissipated into nothingness.

There was an instant of silence. Sam on the floor was staring at his brother in amazement. John still had not lowered his own gun. And the wraiths, as one, began to howl. Every one of those rotting, filthy, stinking beings simply raised their faces to the ceiling and began to scream hopelessly. Then one at the back abruptly exploded into black smoke and, like its master before it, disappeared. And Dean realised that somehow, the strength Dr Pierce had used to keep his human form had relied on the power of them all. They were his slaves and his minions, sources to which he shared power and influence, and without him they could not survive. One by one, they all simply exploded, the howling increasing in volume until it reached a deafening climax, forcing the three Winchesters to cover their ears-and then silence.

John looked up to see the corridor empty, looking oddly deprived now that the wraith army was gone. Sam and Dean were crouched on the floor at the other end, against the wall, heads bowed. John rose and came stumbling across to them just as they looked up to see the wraiths were gone. He bent to the ground and pulled first Sam, then Dean, to their feet. Dean seemed unhurt, though a little dazed-Sam still looked like death. But he was able to stand, and that was an improvement.

"Let's get those kids out of here," John said.

**So the wraiths are gone-but the story's not over yet! Sam's still going to have to fight for his life...as you will see! Please tell me what you think!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Everyone seems glad that the wraiths are gone, but I warned you Sam was not out of danger yet...thanks so much for all your great reviews they really made my week! I also want to thank you all for not minding how much liberty I took with the wraiths, they just came to me that way!**

Chapter 12:

Most of the children were unconscious when the Winchesters reached them-they got them out simply by calling the police and the ambulance to the warehouse, cleaning away their fingerprints and taking off. Sam wanted to stay and make sure they were all okay, but Dean and John would not let him. The boy was swaying on his feet, shattered by the last few days' exertions, and all his family wanted to do was get him somewhere safe where they could rest.

Sam knew it was what they wanted. He also knew that it was not going to be that simple, because of what Dr Pierce had told him. Wraiths and humans did not mix well-and Sam had got about the strongest blast of wraith power possible. His weakness and nightmares made sense-he was slowly being killed by what they had done to him, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

He just wanted to get away. Tell Dean and Dad that he was sorry. The thought made him want to break down and cry as he stumbled out of the warehouse with Dean's help and got into the backseat of the Impala. He wasn't going to see them again. He was going to die.

No, he thought suddenly. Why should I give up? So what if they're killing me, I don't have to give in! I'll fight this like I'd fight anything. I won't give up.

But still, there was clearly a high possibility that he would not make it. And so he had to tell Dean and Dad the truth. Dean was driving as the Impala pulled away across the desert, and Sam leaned back against the leather seat and breathed in the familiar smells. If anywhere was home to him at this point, it would have to be this car. Dean glanced behind, again silently bewailing the ruined mirrors, and frowned at the sight of his brother's face.

"Hey, Sammy, you okay?" Sam looked whiter than ever, and his eyes were half-closed. "Try and sleep, okay?"

Sam suddenly roused himself; it was harder than it should have been. He tried to focus on their faces and the world spun around him. "Look, Dean, could you pull over a second?" he said softly. "There's something I gotta tell you and you can't always be looking behind, you'll crash."

Dean looked surprised, worried, but turned the Impala off the road and pulled over in a small copse of trees. Then he turned in his seat, as did John, to stare at Sam.

"So go ahead, what's up?"

Sam took a deep breath and with an effort looked them right in the eyes. "I don't want you to worry about me," he said quietly. "But there's something Dr Pierce told me that you should probably know." He did not want to do this, did not want to worry them like this. Not after everything. But he was scared, and he was probably going to die, and he did not want to leave them without an explanation. "The wraith powers they used on me..." he began, hazel eyes pleading with those of his father and brother unconsciously, "Humans aren't meant to withstand them. They can't, for long. And I got a heavy dose."

"Sammy, what are you saying?" Dean said in a voice of deadly calm. Sam could no longer hold his gaze; he felt sick and broken.

"I think I'm dying."

"No," Dean growled. "Hell no, I am not letting this happen, was it that filthy rotting son-of-a-b*tch told you that, Sammy? 'Cause he was probably lying to scare you, you know that?"

Sam stared up at him hopelessly. "I can feel it, Dean."

"Sam," John said. "What do you mean you feel it?"

"I mean I'm weak. Dizzy. It's getting worse. I..." His white face suddenly hardened. "I'm not gonna give up, Dad, I swear! But I..."

"Why didn't you tell us this before, Sam?" John demanded in sudden anger. "We could've tortured the wraith for information on how to save you, for God's sake! Why the hell didn't you-" Sam flinched back instinctively at the force of his rage, the dreams, even though he knew them to be false, still burning in the back of his mind. John stilled, an expression of consternation flashing across his face.

"Oh, Sammy..."

"It's okay," Sam mumbled. "Being stupid."

"Sam," Dean said urgently. "Are you sure that the wraith wasn't lying? You could be weak from the drugs or whatever, you've been through hell...do you know for sure that you're this sick?"

Sam shrugged. He did not want to tell them that he did not believe the doctor to have been lying, not when he had told the truth about everything else, not at gunpoint. He did not want to tell them that he could feel the wrongness inside him, eating away at his strength. He did not want to accept it.

"I don't know for sure," he said, very quietly. "I'm just telling you what he told me. In case..." He stopped. Dean looked angry.

"There's no in case about it, Sam, he was lying. So you go to sleep and try and get his damn drugs outa your system, and you'll be fine when you wake up. 'Kay?" He turned in his seat and revved up the engine. "I mean it, Sammy, lie down," he said. Sam obeyed, lying curled along the backseat, eyes wide open. Dean noticed that he was shivering, slipped off his jacket and threw it behind. "Put this on." John raised his eyebrows but said nothing as the car slid out back onto the highway. Sam, lying in the back, had already decided not to go to sleep. He knew he was probably being melodramatic, but he was scared he would never wake up again. But the weight of his exhaustion was bearing him down, and Dean's jacket was warm and comforting around him, and he hadn't slept naturally for what felt like months...and finally his world dissolved into blackness.

…...

"Told you so," Dean commented to his father as they pulled into a motel carpark two hours later. They had crossed the state border and were pretty well safe, and as it was nearly three in the morning it was definitely time to get some rest. Sam had slept for the entire journey, clearly worn out by his ordeal, and Dean was content in the knowledge that it was over, that Sam had just been panicky and stressed and that was all that had led him to believe Dr Pierce's lie. He parked the Impala and got out.

"I'll go get a room, you bring Sammy," his father told him. Dean nodded his assent, stifling a yawn, and opened Sam's door.

"C'mon, Sammy, rise and shine," he called softly. Sam stirred but did not wake, and Dean wondered if he could just carry his little brother still sleeping into the motel, unwilling to rouse him. Then he frowned and looked closer-the kid's skin was streaked with sweat and there were unmistakeable pain lines crossing his face. He reached out and touched his brother's forehead-the heat blazed back at him, and horror struck through him.

Oh, hell, the wraith was telling the truth...Sammy's right...

"Dad!" he called desperately. "Dad!"

John was around the car in seconds, peering in. "What is it?"

Dean gestured helplessly at his little brother. "He's burning up, Dad, I think he really is sick..."

John's face tightened. "Get him inside," he said. "You know the drill. I'll get a ground floor room and shine a light to let you know which one. Don't let anyone see or we'll have the CPS on our backs. Again." He turned away. "Hurry," he said briefly, and then strode away across the parking lot. A shaky voice roused Dean from his dazed rigidity and he whirled to face his brother. Sam's eyes were open, pupils weirdly dilated, looking confused and tired.

"Dean, what's...what's goin' on...I feel weird..."

Dean tried to smile, look as if nothing was wrong. "Hey, easy Sammy, we're at a motel, gonna get some rest..."

"Okay..." Sam struggled into a sitting position, face draining white as he did so, and tried to get out of the car. Dean grabbed his arm to steady him, but as soon as Sam let go he swayed and would have keeled right over his his brother had not caught him. Sam felt arms lifting him from the ground as if he weighed nothing and struggled weakly.

"Hey, Dean, let go of me, I can walk dammit..."

"Sorry, but I don't think you can, kiddo," Dean returned, trying not to let his worry show on his face. He scanned the ground floor row of rooms frantically, searching for his father's signal-there, a flash of light, followed by two more. He stumbled forwards, cradling his little brother in his arms, seeing the window open and John reach through to take from him the limp, trembling form of Sam. Dean, though he hated to leave his brother for even a minute, ran back to the Impala, pulled out the most important bags and then rushed back in through the front. Better not to have two unexplained persons in the room, just in case.

By the time he reached the room, the usual run down, peeling-walled, odd-smelling motel bedroom, John had lain Sam on one of the beds, on his side to let him breathe more easily, and was taking his pulse. The boy's eyes were closed and the unruly chestnut hair falling into them made him look younger and more vulnerable than ever. Dean dropped the bags and came forwards.

"Dad, he needs to go to a hospital..."

"They won't be able to do anything," John snapped. "Sure we can pick up some supplies. Call Bobby, tell him we're gonna need oxygen, painkillers. Soon. But no, Dean-a hospital's not gonna do Sam any good now."

"Hey," Sam mumbled weakly, his eyes sliding open again. "Hey, I'm okay...just need to sleep..."

Dean crossed to the bed and bent over it. "Listen to me, Sammy, listen to me!" he said urgently. "C'mon..."

"I'm listening, Dean, but...why...why're you...moving so much..." Sam's eyes narrowed, trying to focus on his brother's face. Dean came nearer.

"Listen, Sammy, you gotta fight this!" he said desperately. "You hear me? You can't give in! You can't!"

"I'm...I'm not...giving up...Dean," Sam whispered, and his eyes closed again. His breathing was shallow and quick, too quick for a sleeper, but he was clearly out of it. Dean rubbed a hand through his close-cropped hair and tried not to panic.

"Please, Sammy..." he whispered. "Please..."

**So Sammy is sick after all! Bobby will also be in this story, next chapter I think just so you know any Bobby fans out there...umm...please tell me what you think!**


	13. Chapter 13

**I'm so sorry for the late update, I've been in England on holiday and have had VERY limited internet access...and then I just posted some oneshot and basically I'm sorry! Still, I'm back now...**

**Thank you so much everyone who reviewed! here's the next chapter, hope you like it! Bobby is in this one, the one who keeps his head and gets all the supplies as you thought...**

Chapter 13:

Dean could not take his eyes off his brother. Sam lay curled up beneath the covers, eyes screwed shut as if against the nightmare of the world. He was shivering, faintly, and his every breath came fast and laboured. When Dean touched his skin he was shocked by the heat, but yet whenever he tried to uncover Sam or put ice on his head the boy's shaking only increased, and he gasped almost incoherently that he was freezing cold.

Behind Dean, Bobby and John sat at the table talking in low voices. The former had arrived not long ago, bringing with him the supplies the Winchesters had asked for, but Sam had not awoken properly since. Sometimes he spoke, gasping out quick, disjointed words in the grip of delirium. This was the work of the wraiths-Sam had warned them, and now he was losing the fight against them. There was nothing his family could do.

"Dean," John's voice came from behind. "Dean, you should get some sleep."

"That goes for you, too," Bobby commented to John. Both the Winchester men shook their heads as one.

"No way," Dean said quietly. "Not now."

"Dean-"

He stood up and whirled round. "No, Bobby!" he cried angrily. "Why the hell would I go _sleep_ when my brother's lying here-" His voice caught. "And it's my stupid fault!"

John rose and came across the room, reaching out to his distraught son. "Dean," he said softly. "Dean, this isn't your fault. If anything it's mine, for not listening to him..."

I can't say it, Dean thought. I can't. The only time I ever defy you, Dad...the only time. I don't care what makes sense and what doesn't, but it's my job to protect Sammy. That's the way it's always been. I'm the one who failed. But I will never, never say it to you, because I know what it'd do to you. He turned away and sat down again by the edge of the bed. Sam's head moved on the pillow, maybe responding to his brother's presence.

"Hey, Sammy...can you hear me?"

Sam cracked open his eyes. "Dean," he whispered. "It's wrong...you didn't hurt me...they told me Dad and you hurt me...Dean...tell me it's not true..." His voice was harsh and broken, and Dean felt like his heart was breaking too.

"It's not true, Sammy," he murmured. "It's not true." He reached out to brush the sweaty hair out of his little brother's eyes and Sam seemed to calm slightly at the touch, the trembling racking his body subsiding just a little. "I will never hurt you like that," Dean said firmly. "You understand me? You keep fighting, little bro. Keep fighting. I'm here with you."

Sam tried to smile. "I...know..." he rasped. "I'm...sorry..."

"Hey, there," Dean objected. "You got nothing to be sorry about."

"Ran away," Sam reminded him. "And now...now you're all...worried 'bout me...don't...don't worry, I...I'll be okay..." His breathing abruptly constricted and he doubled over, choking. Dean jumped up and pulled him into his arms, tilting his head back to open his airway. "Sam!" he called sharply. "C'mon, Sammy, breathe! Just breathe, dammit!" He could not believe how small his brother seemed in his arms. Sam was nearly as tall as he was by now, and even if he was skinny yet Dean had never felt him so light and broken. Sam gasped in air suddenly and slumped against Dean, who gently lowered him down onto the bed again. Maybe it was better for him to sleep.

"Dean," Bobby said quietly. Dean did not respond.

…...

The next day dawned cold and rainy, and yet neither Dean nor John made any sign that they had even noticed the dawn. Bobby, realising that he had ended up the only one capable of any real rational thought-not for the first time-went out in his car, loath though he was to leave the room where Sam lay dying, and returned with coffee and sandwiches from a nearby diner for his fellow hunters. John thanked him hoarsely-Dean acted as if he had not even noticed his presence. Sam had not stirred since he had nearly suffocated, only lay there motionless looking like death, his untidy chestnut hair splashing on the motel pillow like the last flag of defiance.

"How about you wake Sammy now?" Bobby suggested. "It'd probably be good for the kid if he could eat something..."

Dean nodded stiffly and got up, leaning over the bed, shaking his little brother's shoulder gently. "Hey. Sammy, c'mon. Wake up for me...Sam?" Sam had neither moved nor responded, and his temperature seemed to be getting higher. Dean frowned. "Sam, can you hear me? Sam!" He heard John and Bobby hurrying forwards but himself pressed his ear to his brother's chest, listening for a beat-at first nothing, then, very, very slowly, a faint pulse. Dean felt his blood run cold and began to panic.

"Dad this time we need to get him to hospital, for real!" He grabbed Sam's shoulders and shook him harder, panic making him rough. "Sammy _please_!" But Sam did not move, his head hanging limply back with Dean's shaking. Dean could feel his own heart beating far too fast, as if to make up for the slowness of Sam's. "Sam," he whispered desperately. "Sam, Sammy, please..."

Sam gave a kind of choked murmur and his eyelids flickered. For an instant Dean felt a flash of hope-and then suddenly, stillness. Quiet. Sam hung broken in his arms, unmoving. _Utterly_ unmoving. Even the rise and fall of his chest had stopped. Dean felt a scream building within him but then John had shoved him aside so hard he nearly fell and laid his younger son down on the bed. He pushed the boy's head back and began to give him CPR; Dean climbed to his feet once more and stared, desperate and hopeless, as his father fought to bring his baby brother back to life. Nothing. Nothing, for far too long...and then, suddenly, Sam sucked in a deep breath, a shudder running through his whole body.

"Bobby. Oxygen tank, and the mask you brought. Now," John said grimly. Dean blinked.

"Are you crazy Dad he needs to go to hospital!"

"You think they can help him?" John spat. "There's no-one can help him but us! What do hospitals know of wraith poisons?"

"Dean," Bobby said urgently. "Dean, trust me. Sam's not gonna benefit from being taken to hospital. We can deal with this better than anyone and we do not want anyone to see the chemicals in his blood right now."

"WE'RE GONNA LET SAMMY DIE SO THE DAMN DOCTORS DON'T FIND OUT ABOUT THE SUPERNATURAL?"

"Hell no! Listen, kid, the doctors can't do anything! We got oxygen, painkillers, everything we need here, and they wouldn't be able to do any more. So let's stay secret while we can, okay?" His firm eyes held Dean's, calming the panicked youth. "I promise you, we'll make sure Sammy's okay."

"Get the oxygen mask on him for God's sake," John snapped. "He's barely even breathing..."

Dean would never know how Bobby knew how to do it, nor where he had obtained all his supplies in the first place. At some point the Winchesters had just come to the conclusion that if they ever needed anything-that something being weapons, information or, indeed, portable oxygen tanks-Bobby Singer would have it handy. And in a matter of minutes the old hunter had fixed the mask onto Sam's face, providing the boy with a steady supply of oxygen. Dean stared down at his baby brother through the haze of the mask, and he knew that he could not manage without him. Sam looked so far away and broken, unable even to breathe for himself.

"Hey, Sammy," he whispered. "Hey, I know you can hear me, little bro. You're gonna be okay, you get me? You're gonna be okay because I am not letting anything bad happen to you now, Sammy..." No matter how many times he said it it never seemed to work-Sam always got himself hurt again, and Dean could never protect him. I shot the doctor for Sam! some part of his mind tried to justify himself-no, he thought back. Only when it was way too late.

Because, treacherously, he was finding it difficult to believe himself that Sam would be all right this time.

**Not a cliffy, see! Not technically...I hope you liked it and please review!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks so much for all your reviews and tearsXsolitude I hope you're still alive! I have converted my sister, btw, got the box set of supernatural season 1 and made her watch it, and hehehe she loves it and is now a Samgirl like me! Just had to get that out there, randomly...**

**This chapter could be quite confusing, basically it's Sam's nightmares and most terrifying moments over the series and before it, as well as some metaphors and dreams and stuff, from the wraith poison. So he's seeing the past and the future, and I know there's a lot in it he isn't supposed to know yet. Someone reminded me of that in chapter 7 so I'm just warning people now that all the visions in _this_ chapter are intentional.**

Chapter 14:

_Sam was lost in an ocean of darkness and sound, and he was running for his life. He was terrified, blind in the shadows, his lungs searing with pain. Not so long ago he had been aware of the world around him-heat and cold and confusion, delirium. Dean telling him to keep fighting. And then he had somehow drifted, and then he had been attacked by every demon of every nightmare he had ever had. All he could do was run._

_ He had lain there, paralysed with fear after falling. And then the oldest nightmare of all, the one Dean and Dad never let him talk about-never had, even when he was a little kid who did as they told him all the time. The one where the yellow-eyed man was standing over him, where a woman he knew was his mother was bleeding and screaming, where the fire was everywhere, a hell on earth...and he could not get away, he never could...and then somehow he had heard the voice again, someone calling his name, someone who sounded like Dean...and he had found the strength to get to his feet and run like hell away from the nightmare._

_ But it had not stopped there._

_ Everything. Dreams of Dean dying, of monsters under the bed, or dad never coming home, of evil clowns and the black eyes of demons. Every fear he had ever felt, jumbled together and warped beyond belief; a private hell designed especially for Sam Winchester. Chasing him, snapping at his ankles like hellhounds. No-one was going to save him this time-he was alone, completely alone. Dean was somewhere out there, maybe close by, maybe even holding his hand-but too far away to help him this time. _

_ Sam knew that he could not escape. That this was the end for him. But something within him refused to give up. And so he kept running. Desperately. Endlessly. The past mingled with the present around him, strewn with other images, things that had not happened yet and maybe never would. He saw a girl, blonde and beautiful, face twisted in pain, surrounded by flame. He saw himself, bending over a fallen figure and sucking blood from its neck, like a vampire. He felt strong hands tying him down, convulsions shaking his body, someone yelling that he was going to kill himself and all the while this terrible raging thirst within, and he looked up and it was Dean holding him down; he saw someone with his face laughing as the blood of those he killed with Sam's hands spattered his face, and Sam was screaming inside him, trapped...he saw his father lying crumpled on the ground, the life fled. He ran._

"He's not gonna make it," John said, very quietly, to Bobby They stood just by the door of the motel room where Sam had lain unconscious for two days. Outside a storm raged and rain hammered against the dirty glass like bullets. Bobby stared into his friend's eyes and he saw there the utter hopelessness and despair, and anger filled him-not so much at John Winchester as at the world. He reached forward and gripped the other hunter's shoulders.

"You just listen to me, John. Your boy's a fighter. He is not gonna give up on you if you don't give up on him, you hear me?"

John did not move. "If we lose Sam..."

"Dammit, you are not going to lose him!"

"Bobby, listen to me. He dreamed I nearly killed him! I didn't listen to him and that's why he ran off in the first place. This is _my fault_! And if Sammy dies..."

Their voices had risen over the course of the conversation; now both men could hear Dean's angry tones from the bed.

"_Sammy is not going to die_!"

_Sam crouched on the ground behind a spur of rock more like thickened shadow, fighting to catch his breath. The whispering in his head was driving him mad, he could not shut it out. He pressed his hands over his ears, fighting to control himself. He could not see, the darkness pressing in so intense and blanketing. He barely understood where or who he was, whether or not his father had attacked him or not...he only knew that the terror of the nightmares was going to kill him, real or not. He chanced a glance up and shock jolted through him-Dean stood before him, looking away over his head, raising the barrel of a gun to his throat._

_ "NO!" Sam yelled. "No, Dean!" He jerked to his feet and swiped at the apparition desperately, trying to get the gun off his brother, but he was too late-Dean fired and Sam could not look at the horrific carnage that followed-the carnage that had been his brother's head. He was crying as he stumbled away, unable to distinguish fact from reality, lost. The remnants of Dean dispersed into shadow as he watched, but Sam could not so easily banish them from his memory. He turned and ran on again, frantic for a way out-he did not think he would survive this much longer._

_ A cool, cultured man's voice whispered in his ear that he was the one, that he would say yes. Light erupted, blinding him, guilt tearing him apart within, he wanted to throw himself into the light and have done. He lay motionless, croaking his brother's name, in the dark shattered Impala, feeling blood caking his face. _

_ He ran on, weeping, terrified. Bewildered._

_ He stopped short. Amazed. The woman approaching him was his mother, reaching out with a sad smile of welcome. He blinked. She came closer, touching his cheek-and then her eyes flashed yellow and her smile twisted into a sneer of triumph. Sam yelled and jumped back, but she had already dissipated into smoke. He put his head in his hands. I have to get out of here, he thought. I have to...but how can I when I don't even know where I am? Dean..._

_ "Dean!" he yelled hopelessly into the darkness. "Dean, please! Can you hear me?"_

_ No reply._

_ Sam went on, wandering aimlessly, trying to think. He needed to fight this, needed to sort it like he would prepare for a hunt-first, find out what you're fighting. But he did not know. He remembered wraiths and poisons and drugs and fear, but he did not know if it had been real or not-maybe just another nightmare like so many others."Dean," he whispered. "Dean, please help me..."_

_ His brother's voice, floating and disconnected. "You're a monster, Sam!"_

_ He whipped round, confused. No sign of Dean or any other living being._

_ And then he turned and there was a man he recognised. His memories sparked-a tall, dark __-haired man in a white coat. Dr Pierce. And Sam knew that he was the enemy. He backed away, wary as a caged wolf, wishing he had some kind of a weapon._

_ But when did you ever have weapons in a nightmare? Sam knew that this was one-he just knew also that it was not harmless fiction like they usually were. This one was a s deadly as the imaginings it portrayed._

_ "You're dead," Sam told the wraith. "You're dead, my brother killed you."_

_ The doctor stepped forward, smiling. "What does it matter whether I am alive or dead?" he breathed. "I am still here, and you know that I can still hurt you."_

_ "No," Sam said desperately, fighting not to let his voice tremble. "No, you're not real. You're not real and you can't hurt me." But he could not believe it, not fully._

_ "You think so?" The wraith was suddenly in front of him, moving with impossible speed-he reached out and his hand slammed into Sam's head like a rock, with such force that it threw him backwards to the ground, stunning him. He blinked up, trying to focus his eyes, as Dr Pierce stood over him, ready for the next blow._

Dean blinked, stared in horror and amazement down at his brother. Blood had appeared on Sam's head, just like that, out of the blue, trickling down the side of his face. Gently Dean lifted the boy's floppy hair aside and gasped-a new wound, as if someone had hit him hard across the side of the head, oozing blood.

"Dad, come quick!"

John was across the room in seconds, a panic Dean had rarely seen there before flashing over his face. "What is it?"

Dean pointed to the blood, the wound. John stared.

"It wasn't there before," Dean said. "I know it wasn't. It just _appeared_."

John did not speak. It was a scalp wound, not deep or dangerous, though potentially painful; it was its sudden inexplicable appearance that was so worrying. He inspected it for a few moments, then grabbed the first aid box and bound the cut tight to stop the bleeding. It was all he could do.

_Sam staggered to his feet and raised his fists, ready to fight. He could do this. He had single-handedly fought off a grown man who'd jumped him drunkenly when he was ten years old. He could take one only maybe-real wraith. He hoped. _

_ "You want more?" Dr Pierce asked him cheerfully. "Very well..." He lunged forwards again but Sam was ready for him this time and blocked his arm with his own wrist, bringing his foot around to try and kick the doctor's legs out from under him. Dr Pierce jumped back, however, dodging him, still smiling. _

_ "You can't beat me, Sammy," he whispered. Sam sprang at him, striking him across the face, so fast it was a moment before the doctor rallied and, calling on his wraith strength, threw the boy hard to the ground once more._

_ "My name is _Sam_!" He stood up again, not noticing that his arm was cut as well, that blood __was spilling from cuts all over his body. He was angry, suddenly-Dr Pierce had done this, trapped him in a world made of his own nightmares, and for once he was not scared. He just saw red. He flung himself at the doctor, hitting and kicking and flailing for all he was worth, but the wraith was far stronger than him and he fought a losing battle. He aimed a punch at Dr Pierce's face but he had slipped away like an eel and suddenly Sam felt his weight bearing him to the ground. He fell hard, broken, gasping for breath, and he felt the vicious, supernaturally-strong hands clutch round his throat and he tried to scream, struggling to breathe, hands trapped beneath Dr Pierce's body, writhing and twisting to try and escape, but in vain-the pain around his neck was like a vice, squeezing the life out of him, and he saw black spots dance before his eyes. "No-" he gasped. "No-" But he was powerless._

Dean, John and Bobby were at a loss. The wound on Sam's head was not the only one-before their amazed eyes they saw new injuries open as if by magic on his arms and hands, though he still lay motionless, only the uneven rise and fall of his chest betraying that he was alive at all-that and the constant flickering behind his tight-closed eyelids, as if he was dreaming, and vividly, in his coma. There was nothing they could do but bind up the new wounds and pray that nothing more serious would afflict him.

But they were all fast losing hope.

At that moment Dean noticed a new stillness in his brother and looked harder-Sam was not breathing. Despite the mask and oxygen tank, Sam had just stopped breathing once again. Dean yelled and pulled the mask away, preparing to perform CPR, but then his father's hand on his arms stopped him.

"Dean." John breathed. "Look." And he pointed-bruises were appearing on Sam's neck, livid dark bruises that Dean easily recognised. The marks of a strangling. He began to panic, brushing at Sam's neck, but there was no obstruction, no way of stopping it. He tried to breathe for his brother but due to the phantom hands blocking the boy's airway it was impossible. He felt _himself_ almost hyperventilating as he watched-Sam was turning blue before his eyes and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that he or anyone else could do.

And Dean had never felt such a horrified agony as he did in those terrible last moments when Sam died there on the bed before his eyes.

_Sam lay unmoving, unbreathing below the wraith; his face was grey-blue and streaked with sweat. Smiling, the wraith stood up, staring down at the body of the boy. The nightmare just went on and on. The wraith turned away, preparing to force its way through the walls of the dream and regain its life-that was the beauty of this entire plan. The powers it had forced into Sam bound them together, and now that it had finally killed him it could take possession of all his emotion and life-force, even take over his body and live once more. It smiled at the triumph of its thoughts:_

_ "It is over for you, Sam Winchester, this time."_

**Okay please don't kill me? There's still two chapters left I promise, so plenty can still happen! Please review even if it's just to yell at me!**


	15. Chapter 15

**My thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and here's the second last one for you, hope you like it!**

Chapter 15:

"No," Dean whispered. "No, no no no, it's not true, it's not-Sammy-not like this-"

_Sam felt like he was lying deep underwater, drifting slowly downwards into darkness. It was not a bad feeling, actually, relaxing and calm, with nothing to worry about. He had no notion of his body, just himself, floating away._

_ Then, from far away he heard a voice. It penetrated the darkness surrounding him as nothing else could, though he could not make out the words. He knew only that once he had loved this voice-that once it had been his everything. He was puzzled; he listened harder._

_ "Sammy...Sammy, please, you can't die...no..."_

_ Dean..._

_ Lost and floating, almost reluctantly Sam began to fight. He did not know how he fought or even fully why, he just knew that there was a desperate compulsion in that voice that he could not ignore. He struggled upwards through the black waters, feeling his body solidify, as if he was only now returning to it, feeling pain erupt all over him. He tried to draw a breath and agony burst in his windpipe. He gasped-his eyes flew open. _

_ He lay on the ground somewhere dark as night, and Dr Pierce was standing a little way off with his back to him, chanting something in a low voice. Sam fought with his sluggish brain-slowly the memories began to return. And with that he realised-now or never. _

_ He had to kill him here, in the nightmare, or the wraith would never leave him._

_ But how could he? The only way to kill a wraith was with silver, and Sam had nothing here, nothing at all._

_ Nothing except his mind._

_ This is my dream, he thought. This is my dream, my nightmare, my mind. I can control it, can't I?_

_ He pulled himself to his knees, gasping silently in an attempt not to cry out with the pain and alert the doctor. Engrossed in his incantation, Dr Pierce did not hear him. Sam struggled to his feet, using every speck of stubbornness that for so long had been his trademark. He focused on his right hand and he willed it. This was his mind, and his to control. Here, Dr Pierce had no power over him._

_ The darkness surrounding his hand solidified, began to shine faintly. Suddenly he was holding a silver knife, as real as anything else here, including the wraith. He gritted his teeth and stepped forward-at the last moment the doctor turned, and horror convulsed his face. He raised a hand to hit the boy again, and in that instant Sam drove the knife into his heart._

_ "This is my mind to control," he hissed. "You...have no power over me here." And the the wraith fell, beginning to smoke and collapse in on itself. And not just it, but the darkness was swirling and changing, beginning to fade. Sam fell to his knees, a horrific pain driving through his head, and his eyes were forced shut in a burst of bright white brilliance-_

He breathed. He shot upright, choking, gasping, crying. He could not see, he was shaking violently. He heard someone scream his name like it was the most important thing in the world, felt strong arms grab him and pull him close. He felt hard leather against his face and he knew it was Dean, heard his big brother's voice whispering his name, over and over. He struggled to get a hold on himself, to breathe-he opened his eyes. At first only an indistinct blur-then Dean, holding him, and his father and Bobby behind. He knew only that he was alive, that it was over-he was shaky and bewildered, but he had made it through.

"Sammy, Sam, you okay?" Dean demanded at last, pulling away. Sam nodded.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Yeah, I'm...I'm fine...he's dead. Dr Pierce is dead."

Dean looked surprised. "Of course he is, I killed him back at the warehouse."

Sam smiled weakly. "Sorry, but I finished the job this time." Pain was washing over him from all quarters, undefined but nevertheless horrible, and as he registered it he gasped involuntarily, trying to fight it down. His hand went to his throat, feeling the slight swelling and bruising there. Dean gently pulled his brother's hand away. "Hey, Sammy, easy now. Does it hurt?"

"I'm okay," Sam rasped. "Can I just get...some water?" He tried to get up but Dean pushed him back, and then his father of all people was there, handing him a glass of water. Sam took it but his hand was shaking so much he would have dropped it had Dean not taken it from him and held it to his lips.

"I'm not a baby, Dean, I can do it..."

"Maybe, but you'll get wet as hell..." He tilted the glass and Sam had no choice but to open his mouth or get it sloshed all over his face. He glared at Dean, who was unrepentant.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, but...where..." He shook his head, puzzled. The memories were slipping away already; he remembered nightmare, darkness, terror. He remembered Dr Pierce. But the rest was a blur. He shuddered briefly-maybe it was better that way. Dean, noting this with the eagle-sharp eyes that only seemed to surface when he thought something was wrong with Sam, looked closer.

"You probably need to rest a bit, Sammy..."

"I've been out for hours..."

"Two days, actually," John put in, watching the shock on his younger son's face. "You had us worried that time."

"Uh-" Sam tried to smile. "Sorry?" His eyes were closing even as he spoke-why he should be so exhausted he did not know, but he was. He felt Dean brushing the hair out of his eyes and saw the darkness closing in-he fought it half-heartedly but it was impossible. Just as he lost consciousness again he heard his father's voice in his ear, the words- "You have nothing to be sorry for, Sam." And then the blessed darkness of, finally, a dreamless sleep.

…...

John was alone, dozing in a chair beside the bed, when Sam next opened his eyes. At the first movement the hunter was alert, reaching out to stroke his youngest son's forehead, help him into consciousness. Sam was all right, he and the others thought-severely weakened and exhausted by his ordeal, but all right. He could hardly believe that they could have been this lucky.

Or maybe not lucky. Dean had told him what he thought Dr Pierce had got wrong-the three ways in which he had underestimated Sam. Maybe Sam had just been stronger than him all along. Strange, John thought-Sam infuriated him a lot of the time, maybe because their world views, if not their personalities, were so different. Maybe because of that he had grown used to thinking of the boy as the weak link in the family...but it was times like these that made him realise-somehow, Sam was the strongest of all of them.

Sam's eyes flickered open-for a moment he seemed confused and even scared, then, seeing his father, he smiled and tried to push himself up against the pillows. John, perceiving his weakness, put an arm around his shoulders and helped him. Sam looked surprised, and a little wary, and John felt a pang of guilt.

"How're you feeling?" he asked his son.

"I'm great," Sam replied. "I think I'm probably back to normal now..." He pushed back the covers, once again trying to get out of bed. John, slightly bewildered, put a hand on his chest and pressed him gently back.

"Hey, easy there. You nearly died only a few hours ago, you definitely shouldn't be up and about any time soon, kiddo."

Again that look of wariness. "I'm fine, Dad, really."

John felt slightly lost. Dean was usually in the vicinity whenever he had to deal with stubborn Sammy. It shocked him to see how little he understood his own son. But Sam had to know that he was not yet _fine_-why bother pretending?

"How about you tell me exactly how you got outa that one, then?" he said, trying to sound jovial. "You killed the wraith leader-again?"

"He was kind of bound to me, through all the drugs and everything he put in me," Sam said. "He was still there, in my dreams. I fought him, and I got lucky."

John wondered if Sam was aware that he had actually died for at least five minutes before so suddenly waking up out of the blue, amazing and terrifying them all. He decided not to mention it-the situation was complicated enough as it was. "Well, that's pretty impressive," he commented awkwardly. "We, uh...we were worried sick about you." Why could he never tell Sam what he really felt? Worried sick-that was nothing to the utter devastation and horror he had felt when his son had stopped breathing and not started again.

"I'm sorry about that," Sam said, very quietly. "But I'm okay now." He was looking away-again, John just could not understand why he was acting to oddly. Maybe it was some residual instinct from the lies he had been told? It would wear off, though, it had to...suddenly an idea struck him and he looked closer.

"Sammy, you don't think I'm mad at you for getting sick do you?"

"No sir," Sam replied, too quickly. John sighed.

"Sam-"

"Well, it's not exactly fair if you are," Sam blurted. "'Cause you always just tell me to suck it up and that's what I'm trying to do here and you won't even _let_ me!" Then a look of shock passed over his face. "Oh, hell, I didn't mean to say that..."

John reached out impulsively and took his son's face in his two hands, staring deeply into the boy's wide, hazel gaze that was so painfully like Mary's had been; honest, innocent but far from weak or stupid, determined and so emotional. Their eyes fixed upon each other, father and son, John whispered: "I'm not angry with you, Sammy. You did something so amazing in just surviving at all...I was so afraid I'd lose you, and it'd be my fault...and I couldn't take that." He took a short breath. "If...if I've made you feel guilty to be injured, then...it's my fault, not yours." He smiled slightly, peering into his son's haggard, surprised face. "I never had time to tell you before, but I'm sorry, Sammy."

Sam was amazed. "_Sorry_? For what? You didn't do anything wrong!"

"Sam...I didn't listen to you." The older hunter's eyes were dark with remorse. "You ran off to save those kids, and you were right to do it. You know what would have happened if I'd stopped you. But I should've listened, and then you wouldn't have nearly died." His voice cracked a little. "It's my fault, Sam."

"No," Sam protested. "Dad, I ran away. You can't blame yourself...no-one's fault but mine..."

John opened his mouth to retort, but at that moment the door burst open to reveal Dean with a harassed expression, Bobby behind him. On seeing his brother awake, Dean rushed across the room and dropped down beside the bed.

"Sammy, how're you feeling? When'd you wake up?" He touched the boy's forehead. "Thank God you've got no fever..."

Sam smiled tiredly. "Dean, _I'm okay_! Stop worrying about me."

Bobby shrugged.. "You should be relishing this moment, kid, 'cause you won't get Dean as your slave again."

"Hey," Dean protested half-heartedly. "I'm insulted."

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said. "I didn't get a chance to say it before...how are you?"

Bobby laughed shortly. "Well, apart from the heart attacks I had after you nearly died? Fine. How about you?"

"I'm great, as I keep telling people," Sam replied.

"You hungry?" Dean demanded. "'Cause we brought food." Sam nodded his assent eagerly and his brother withdrew a plastic carrier bag from his jacket pocket. Bobby was frowning and as Sam took the package he looked up at his almost-uncle, puzzled.

"What is it?" he asked. Bobby shot him a measuring look.

"Well, I wasn't around for the most of it, obviously. But from what I've heard you dreamed of the wraiths even before you knew they existed. That's what made you run off in the first place. Am I right?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed softly, turning his gaze away. "Yeah, that was it."

Bobby took a few steps towards him. "Thing is, Sam...you any idea why the wraiths would let you know that?"

Sam gulped. "Uh-they didn't. It wasn't them..."

John frowned. "So how did you do that?"

Sam looked up and his wide hazel eyes were pleading. "I don't know," he said. "Dr Pierce, the wraith, just told me that he'd thought I'd done it on purpose, that I should know how...but I don't. I just don't think it was anything to do with them."

"You didn't make him tell you?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes. Sam shrugged. Dean had sort of shot him before he had had the chance, but since it had saved his life he did not want to mention it. Still, Dean seemed to have realised as much himself and was looking a little sheepish.

Sam looked up at his father. "I really don't know," he said with something that was almost desperation in his voice. "I swear..."

"It's okay, Sammy," John said softly, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "I believe you. And we'll get to the bottom of this, but don't worry, you hear me?"

Sam nodded. "Okay...but-"

John shook his head. "No. Try and forget it for now."

Sam looked puzzled, but agreed warily. John allowed his gaze to drift just for a moment out of the window, a fear he barely understood settling on his heart. How could this be happening? How did it make sense? The others perhaps did not fully understand what it meant, but if Sam had really had some kind of vision then it was potentially an extremely big problem...

Yes, he would look into this. He would not let it go. It was far more serious than Dean, Sam or even Bobby realised.

**Okay, only one more chapter to go which I'll try to post really soon, please let me know what you think of this one! I had to give Sam and John a little heart-to-heart, it was long overdue! And look, no cliffy! I am capable of being nice, you see! Actually it's just cos it's at the end of the story...oh well. **

Hope you liked Sammy's triumph over the wraiths and also please understand-there is no logical reason for his being able to come back to life this time-there was just a little spark left in him and Dean's voice made him fight for it, that's all! Please review!


	16. Chapter 16

**Very short chapter I know, it's kind of more like an epilogue...**

Chapter 16:

Sam was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, reading, when Dean came striding out of the motel and pulled open the driver's door. Sam looked up.

"You ready to get outa this place?" Dean asked him. He could not help being a little anxious-it was only a couple of days since Sam had actually died and come back to life. But the Winchesters had never been those to stay in one place for long. Sam smiled and put his book aside.

"Yeah. You?"

Dean folded himself into the car and jammed the keys into the ignition. Instantly Metallica was blasting through the car again and Sam winced.

"Dammit can't you turn that off?"

Dean glanced at him. "You only get to b*tch about the music when you're dying, Sammy, sorry."

Sam sighed and leaned back. "What about if _it_ kills me?"

"Then you will die for a just cause," Dean replied cheerfully. Ahead, their father's truck was just pulling out of the parking lot, and Dean followed, the sleek black car cutting through the early morning mist. For once they were not leaving for another hunt, but to Bobby's for a while, something Sam was endlessly relieved about. He knew it would not last forever, or even probably more than a few days, and he also knew that it had probably been Dean's idea, a not-so-subtle way of letting him recuperate a bit before they began work again. But he didn't really care. His battle with the wraith had left him exhausted and haunted by obscure but terrifying nightmares-he knew that they were connected to what he had seen when trapped within his own mind by the wraith poison, but he could not remember their details, only terror and pain like nothing he had ever felt before- and he was glad of any break. Already the road was stretching ahead of them, empty and gleaming faintly with last night's rain, and for once Sam did not see its endless reach as a bad thing. Sure, they travelled and moved, always homeless, never settling, and the sight of the empty road usually made him feel depressed. Now, though, it was like a new beginning. He smiled as he gazed out ahead, and Dean raised his eyebrows.

"You all right, Sammy?"

Sam sighed. "For the twentieth time today, Dean, _yes_. And my name is Sam."

"All right, all right, b*tch."

"Jerk."

Dean laughed soundlessly.

"So," he said after a few minutes. "You're a Seer now?"

Sam turned, surprised. "_What_?"

"Well," Dean said. "You did dream about the warehouse before you ever saw it. Sounds like a vision to me. Full-on ghost whisperer."

Sam put his head in his hands. "Look, the wraiths were messing with my head the whole time, Dean, maybe they just missed something. Maybe someone even told me about it before but I just don't remember. There's enough that's just a blur. I don't know."

Dean shrugged. "D'you actually believe any of that?"

"No," Sam mumbled unwillingly. "But it's all that makes sense."

Dean looked at him, and was suddenly struck by the expression of fear in his beautiful hazel eyes. He knew that Sam was hurting and maybe would be for some time-the trauma of what he had been through had marked him deeply, and whatever he had experienced whilst in his terrifying coma was all the worse for being so undefined. But he would help Sam through this, whatever it took. "Hey, little bro," he said with uncharacteristic gentleness. "Hey, don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of it and it'll be just fine. Don't worry!"

Sam glanced up and he suddenly looked five years old again for an instant, confused and scared and lost, and needing his older brother's help and guidance. "But what if-"

"Nuh-uh," Dean said. "Don't think like that. You can't waste your life worrying about this crap, Sammy. Okay? Forget it! It's just a one-off anyway."

"I don't know," Sam muttered. "Feels like..."

"Hey!" Dean interrupted. "Hey, Sammy. You're not alone any more. You got me. So you'll be okay. As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you. Ever again. Remember?"

Sam smiled weakly. "'Kay, Dean," he said softly. "I'll remember."

…...

Watching from the trees as the sleek black Impala sped by, the man standing there smiled. He could afford to let the boy go for now. He had what he needed and he would be able to find him again. The family was a little scared, and certainly they would search, but they would not find anything. The time was not yet right.

But Azazel was patient. He had been waiting decades for this, and he was betting on the boy in the Impala's passenger seat. Betting hard. He had thought that he had lost him for a while, and had to use his powers to bring on a few visions, just to locate him. The visions themselves, of course, had caused much more trouble than he had expected, but it had been worth it. Now he knew that Sam Winchester was stronger than even he had thought, and it had definitely been an interesting game to watch play itself out.

The boy was his brightest star. His powers were potentially immense and his determination and courage would lift him right to the top. Azazel knew that he had made the right choice in taking him. His time would come, soon enough.

The End

**Yes, Azazel's behind it all...it was always my favourite story arc, him versus Sam...! Anyway, that's the end and I want to thank everyone who added this to favourite story or story alert or just who bothered to read it-but I have to say especially those of you who left me a review! You made me so happy and encouraged me so much, I am seriously amazed by the response for this story! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! I doubt this would have got far without you!**

**My apologies to MysteryMadchen, who asked if Sam could be blinded or have heart trouble or something following it all...I really am sorry but it just didn't go that way this time. Maybe next time though! Hope you're okay with that?**

**I'll probably start posting another story pretty soon if anyone's interested, I have a few ideas, especially because I'm sorta craving the old kind of Supernatural, where Dean and Sam were so close...I miss those times! Anyway, I have begun writing two stories, one called _Personal Demons_ set in early season one, a lot of Sammy angst over Jessica, Dean taking care of him and that sorta thing. Alternatively I also have an idea for a sequel to this story which I've also begun writing, and if anyone might be interested in either I'll start posting whichever people would prefer in a little while...just let me know! **

**Once again, thanks so much to all of you who followed the story, have fun and goodbye for now!**

**love **

**Anna**


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